Misunderstood
by Marie Kollman
Summary: Nathaniel and Caroline Cousland have come a long way but one obstacle remains in the way of him letting go of his past and embracing a future with her - and that is his wretched pride. Mainly from Nathaniel's pov with past recollections. Rated M for sex scenes later on.
1. Envy

_**This story was meant to be a one-shot but ended up seven chapters long. It was originally written in 2010/11 and has never been published.**_

~o~O~o~

As the last of the lamps in the upper rooms of the ancient fortress were extinguished, darkness fell over Vigil's Keep. Only a few lamps remained lit outside for the night watch to walk by, which cast rays of pallid half-light through the large windows of the old banqueting hall, which now served as a soldiers' mess. The firepit had long since guttered out, and the hall's solitary occupant had not bothered to relight it.

He shivered a little as he sat alone at the end of one of the trestle tables, but still did not get up; instead, his attention was fixed on a door at the far end of the hall, directly in his line of sight: Commander Cousland's – Caroline's – office.

Caroline, as she insisted everyone call her, had done what she always did after days like today – she'd retreated to her office and had buried herself in paperwork. It was becoming predictable, now; once a month, _**he**_ would visit the Keep, and Nathaniel would watch, appalled, as everyone scurried around like mice making sure everything was just so for his arrival.

Why? What had he done to deserve that?

He'd had the title of King handed to him in a frankly dubious process that had involved not only the death of Ferelden's greatest general - and Nathaniel's childhood hero - Loghain Mac Tir, but also in the exile of Mac Tir's daughter, Anora. The only claim that Theirin had to the throne was that he was Maric's bastard, or so he professed; but even that didn't make him the rightful heir to Ferelden's throne. Theirin wasn't Maric's only bastard – he was one of _many_ of Maric's bastards, of that Nathaniel had no doubt. There were probably dozens of them roaming Thedas – all of whom would make a far better choice for King than that _child_ in a man's body.

How Nathaniel despised Theirin, who had blundered his way through the Blight, with nothing but blind luck bringing him to where he was today. He always sauntered into the Keep – Nathaniel's childhood home! – like he owned the place with his handsome face, his chuckles, his one-liners, his honey skin and perfect hair and his charm and easy humour. And that boyish, lopsided grin that made Nathaniel's teeth itch. How he hated him!

Nathaniel liked routine and order, and detested that his routine was disrupted whenever Theirin came to visit. He hated that the Keep's staff, many of whom he'd known for years, fawned over the manchild in a way he found quite revolting. He hated that Theirin took a tour of the keep each time he visited, as though it would have somehow changed since the last time he'd come.

He hated that Theirin called him 'Nate' – had he given him leave to address him by his first name? And the shortened version of it, at that? No!

He hated seeing Caroline and Varel have to bow to him almost as much as Nathaniel hated bowing to him.

But what he truly hated about Theirin? What really burned and chafed and gnawed away at him like an itch he couldn't scratch?

Nathaniel knew for a fact that Theirin had been Caroline's first – that he had taken her innocence, sometime during the Blight, in a squalid, cramped, freezing cold tent – a _tent_ of all places – in the mud and with Maker knows what manner of creatures scuttling around within. Caroline was a lady – the daughter of Ferelden's highest noble house – and Theirin had fucked her in a tent?

And, not content with taking Caroline's most precious gift – which, by rights, should have been given to Nathaniel on their wedding night – and, after making her believe that the two of them would remain together and never be parted, the sneaking, malicious bastard had refused to give his name to her after taking the throne. He had had a reason, Caroline had explained – that they would never be able to produce an heir. Reasons? Who cared for reasons? If he had truly loved her, then the Maker himself should not have kept him from honouring her! Had she just been some fancy piece to keep Theirin occupied during the Blight? She should have been his queen! How _dare_ he treat her so shabbily!

Nathaniel winced as he cracked his knuckles a little too hard. Flexing his fingers and massaging his hand, his head snapped up as he heard muted voices coming from within Caroline's office.

"Goodnight, Commander," Nathaniel heard as the door was opened. It was Varel, the keep's seneschal. "And by 'goodnight', Commander, I mean 'go to bed'," Varel finished.

"I will soon, Varel, I promise," he heard her reply. "Goodnight."

Varel nodded, closed the door and headed toward the banqueting hall. Nathaniel sat as still as a statue, hoping that the shadows would conceal him. They did; Varel sailed through without a glance in Nathaniel's direction.

Nathaniel watched the older man leave and then wondered why he was hiding from him. _ I'm not doing anything wrong, am I? _He thought, glancing back at the door. _What __**am**__ I doing?_ He asked himself. _Watching her? What is that going to accomplish? You know what you want to do, so why are you stalling?_

His knuckle-cracking resumed as he admitted to himself that it didn't really matter _where_ Theirin had deflowered her. What ate away at him was that he'd deflowered her _at all_.

_She should have been mine. Her gift should have been_ _mine. If Father hadn't sent me to the Free Marches, and if he hadn't…_

He exhaled slowly and closed his eyes.

…_if he hadn't…the Couslands…_

He shook his head and opened his eyes, looking at his hands, his gaze settling on the third finger of his left hand, which was unadorned by a ring.

_If it hadn't been for him, she would have been my wife by now. She would have had my children, and her family would still be alive…_

His chest tightened painfully and bitter-tasting, acidic bile rose in his gullet with the realisation that he would never be able to have children, not now he was a Warden. He'd left it too late.

"You ruined everything," he seethed through clenched teeth, his hands balling into fists as the image of Rendon Howe crept, unwanted, into his thoughts. "Everything…"

"I hope there _is_ a hell for you to rot in, you bastard!" he cried aloud, nearly upending his chair as he threw it back and stood, ready to charge out of the hall, and then froze, hearing the office door open again.

"Hello?" he heard her call hesitantly, her mellisonant, dulcet voice gliding down the hall toward him like petals carried on a gentle breeze, caressing his ears like a whispered promise as it reached him. "Varel? Is that you?"

Nathaniel's mouth opened to answer but, much to his vexation, his throat refused to co-operate, and no words issued forth.

"What – no takers?" she asked the empty hallway, and sighed. "Varel was right – I _do_ need to go to bed," she murmured to herself, and closed the door.

Nathaniel closed his eyes and sighed, his heart playing a strident tattoo in his chest. Her voice…it _did_ things to him. Things he hadn't felt for a long time.

He'd felt sexual arousal before, albeit in a somewhat mechanical way – either by his own hand, or in a meretricious encounter with one of the many whores dotted around the Free Marches, who'd warmed his bedroll for ten tawdry minutes on the occasional lonely night before having her turn with the rest of the men – an experience that had left him feeling even lonelier and emptier than he had beforehand.

And then there had been those times as a teenager, which had made him feel entirely different, but they were a long-buried memory, something he no longer allowed himself to think about, especially after finding out about Theirin.

It was Caroline who had made him feel that way, so long ago. When he had been sent away to the Free Marches, sometimes the memory of her voice had been the only thing that had kept him going. Her voice was the verdant, lush grass and delicate flowers that grew over, and enriched, the cloying mud of his cynicism, his scorn, his derision and his lumbering, jaded weariness. Her voice was like an exotic, delicately-scented unguent for his battered heart. It washed over him in healing, harmonising waves which he could quite happily drown in.

He often imagined that voice whispering his name as she lay beneath him, sated, panting, and completely and utterly _his_ – his fingers would curl through her honey-blonde hair, and he would tell her everything: of how lost he had been up until that moment, and of how her love and belief in him had been a guiding light during his journey through the absolute, hermetic blackness of self-doubt, shame and regret.

She had helped him navigate that darkest of places, her small hand enclosed in his large one, her kindness, patience and unshakeable belief in him slowly drawing him out like a blade. She knew him better than anyone – she had made the _effort_ to know him better than anyone. When he'd first been reunited with her after the darkspawn invasion at the keep, he'd snapped, sneered and sniped at her like a rabid wolf issuing a warning for her not to come any closer. He hadn't _wanted_ her to come any closer; he didn't want, or feel he deserved, to be close to anyone, least of all the woman he'd once planned on making his bride, before his father had sent him away without warning.

But she knew. She knew _him_. She saw past the layers of hurt and bitterness and deep, rancid shame and self-loathing. She reached inside him, through the high, insurmountable wall he'd erected around himself over the past eight years, and touched a part of him he'd thought was long since dead: the part of him that dared to start forgiving and accepting himself. With just a look, or a soothing word, she touched him on a level he'd vowed that no one would ever reach; he had long ago closed himself to the possibility of ever loving someone again, or of being loved.

It hadn't all been soothing words and healing touches, however. Caroline had acquired a backbone since the last time he'd seen her – she was still the lady he remembered, but with a feisty side to her. Several times, he'd seen her vehemently – and noisily – defending her friends or those who had been dealt a rough hand. She had become a champion of the disaffected, the downtrodden and the unjustly treated.

The first time he'd seen such a display from her had horrified him. Nathaniel, Caroline, Anders and Sigrun had been shopping in Amaranthine, and Caroline had given Sigrun a sovereign to buy herself some sundries. After making her purchases, Sigrun had returned to Caroline and handed the change to her commander – not realising that Caroline had given her the whole sovereign, and did not want the change.

"_Wait a minute, Sigrun – let me see that change," Caroline had asked, and Sigrun held her palm open; clearly the merchant had short-changed her._

"_You should have had more change than that," she'd commented, walking over to the stall Sigrun had patronised a few minutes earlier._

"_Oh…I-I'm sorry, Carrie," Sigrun had mumbled. "I don't count so good," she'd admitted in an embarrassed whisper._

_Caroline had placed a reassuring arm around her dwarven friend's shoulders. "It's all right, Sigs – there's nothing to be ashamed of."_

_Caroline had cleared her throat to attract the merchant's attention. "Yeah?" he'd asked curtly, not bothering to look up from counting his money._

"_Excuse me," Caroline had said, "my friend has just bought a few items from your stall, and I believe you may have miscalculated her change."_

"_Ha! Do me a favour, love," he'd answered with a snort as he looked up. "Your friend is obviously one of them cave-dwellers. They can't count, can they? Let alone read. Tell her she's mistaken."_

_Nathaniel had watched the exchange with mild disinterest up to that point, but had soon taken notice when he observed her body stiffen, her hands clench at her sides, and her pale green eyes become galvanised with a hard, steely glint._

"_You knew she couldn't count?" she'd asked, the honey in her voice tainted with vinegar. "You deliberately short-changed her, didn't you?"_

_The merchant had rolled his eyes and turned his back on her. _

_Caroline's eyes had blazed and she'd charged around to the other side of the stall, grabbed the merchant by his collar, and hauled him across the counter; Nathaniel's mouth fell open and his eyes darted around, hoping that no one was watching her._

"_How dare you turn your back on me!" she'd yelled._

"_Hoy, guards!" the man had called out in a panic. "This woman's a bleedin' nutter! Tell her to put me down!"_

_Two guards had sauntered over, in no rush, and stood next to Caroline, one of them making a sterling effort not to laugh. "Is he causing you trouble, Arlessa?" he'd asked._

"_A-arlessa…what?" the merchant had croaked, dismay apparent on his features as she released him and pushed him away._

"_He's just taken advantage of my friend and short-changed her," she'd told the guard with a withering glare at the merchant._

_The smirking guard's face hardened and he folded his arms. "Again?" he barked._

"_Again?" Caroline had asked angrily._

"_We've had several complaints about this one, but we can't prove it without going through his books," said the guard._

"_Look, A-arlessa, there must be some arrangement we can come to, no?" the crooked merchant had stammered._

"_Give my friend the rest of her change," Caroline had commanded._

"_Y-yes, Arlessa," he'd answered, counting out exactly 25 silver and 3 bits into Sigrun's hand._

"_Ha! Funny how you knew the exact amount to give her back!" Anders had sneered._

"_Indeed," Caroline had agreed, turning to the guards. "Confiscate his stock immediately," she ordered, and turned back to the merchant. "You will bring your books and records to Vigil's Keep before sundown and will submit them to Mistress Woolsey for an audit," she commanded. "And bring a tent. We'll not have the likes of you staying at the keep," she finished, and turned her back on the stunned merchant before walking away._

"_As you command, Arlessa Cousland," one of the guards had answered with a bow._

"_Yay, Carrie!" Sigrun had squealed, wrapping her arms around her commander's legs. "You're so awesome!"_

_Caroline had started to chuckle as her friend's enthusiasm killed her anger, and then felt a sharp pain in her upper arm as she was harshly grabbed and dragged several feet away._

"_What do you think you're doing?" she'd yelled at Nathaniel, shrugging her arm from his grip._

_Nathaniel's pale eyes were almost white with fury. "What do _I_ think I'm doing? What did you think _you_ were doing just then?" he'd demanded._

"_What? I was standing up for my friend – what's wrong with that?"_

_Nathaniel had taken a step closer to her and lowered his voice so no one else could hear. "A lady would not comport herself in such an opprobrious manner in public!" he'd hissed._

_Caroline's nostrils had flared and she put her hands on her hips. "Swallowed a dictionary again, have you, Nate?" she bit out._

"_Mock me if you will, but that does not change the fact you have just made a public spectacle of yourself!" he'd pointed out. "Someone of your house and bearing should know better, Arlessa Cousland!" _

_Caroline had taken a further step towards Nathaniel; Anders and Sigrun exchanged an anxious glance. _

"_Don't you _ever _speak my family name again!" she'd bristled, too angry to realise what she was saying. "You, of all people, have no right to speak my family name!"_

_And, with that, almost a month of convincing Nathaniel that he was not responsible for his father's actions was undone._

_They had not spoken for almost three days after that until, fed up with the noxious atmosphere at the keep, Anders and Sigrun had inveigled the two of them into Varel's office – with the seneschal's blessing - and had locked the door, refusing to let them out until they'd apologised to each other._

_The mage and the rogue had had a long wait; nothing but a weighty, charged silence had come from the office for almost two hours until, either driven by hunger, or bored of glowering and huffing at one another, Nathaniel and Caroline had said 'I'm sorry' almost simultaneously – and, once those simple words had been uttered, the apologies, sincere and heartfelt, came thick and fast from both of them. Anders, upon hearing laughter from inside the office, had unlocked the door and gingerly pushed it open, to find the two of them sniggering like naughty children from opposite ends of the room._

"_Ah – room service has arrived," Nathaniel had quipped._

He allowed a small smile to creep onto his lips as he continued to watch her office door. He'd been a different person, back then when he'd been imprisoned by the Orlesian Wardens, and subsequently released and forced into taking the Joining by Caroline. He'd hated her, then – at least, he'd convinced himself that he hated her – after hearing of his father's murder at the hands of the Grey Wardens, who had been granted his _home; _and, to make matters worse, he had heard that Caroline, who had promised to wait for him, had taken up with that bastard Theirin.

He had subsequently learned the truth about his father: not only his actions during the Blight, but his efforts to keep him from marrying Caroline. Rendon Howe had discovered, quite by accident, that Nathaniel had strong feelings for her. Wanting his other son, Thomas – who was much easier to control and manipulate than Nathaniel – to marry her instead, Howe had instructed Nathaniel's new master, Bann Regis of Kirkwall, to intercept any letters sent between the two of them, claiming that Caroline Cousland was a girl of loose morals, and that Nathaniel was infatuated with her. It had taken a long time for Nathaniel and Caroline to realise this, and many bitter and angry words had been exchanged, and accusations levelled, in the meantime. For a long time, their once innocent, sweet and warm – though undeniably real – love for one another became a blackened, ruined battleground, with each of them standing at either side, neither willing to advance.

They had known each other for a very long time, since they were children; she had been his first female friend, his first crush and his first sexual fantasy – although she was a year younger than him, she had started to develop long before he had, and long before he realised what an effect her emerging femininity would have on him.

He remembered watching her play hopscotch, from behind a bush at Highever, at the age of fourteen, and had noticed her breasts jiggling beneath her frock as she hopped and laughed with her friends. He'd felt a very peculiar sensation just below his belly button, and had noticed that his willy had hardened – which had never happened before without him touching it. He had felt ashamed of himself, but that had not stopped him from going up to his room and gratifying himself while he continued to watch her from the window, getting an even _better_ view of her breasts from up there.

After that, he'd been smitten by her, and had followed her around like an imprinted duckling whenever his family visited hers, or vice versa. She knew that he followed her, of course, being a wily female, but had pretended not to notice. She liked Nate and, having heard talk from her parents of a possible marriage between the two of them, had decided that the best way to keep him interested was to remain a lady – a lady who just happened to sway her hips as she passed him, and who wore scent and close-fitting dresses whenever he came to visit.

During one of the Couslands' visits to Vigil's Keep, Caroline, feeling mischievous, had decided to give Nate a little taste of things to come. She was fifteen by then - and him sixteen - and she was very well-developed. She'd caught him lurking behind one of the stables. For once, he hadn't been following her, but had been practising his stealth technique. As it was around noon, however, shadows and dark corners were few and far between, and he wasn't having much luck.

"_What are you doing?" she'd asked brightly, causing him to start._

"_Oh! Caroline – I, um… what are you doing here?"_

"_I was looking for you – and I found you," she'd replied, tilting her head coquettishly._

"_Oh… what did you want me for? Am I in trouble?" he'd asked, his eyes narrowing._

"_Always so suspicious, Nate, aren't you?" she'd teased, moving closer to him._

_He'd stiffened, a heavy frown marring his face. "What _do_ you want me for, then?"_

"_Well, as our parents have decided we're to be married when we're old enough, I thought I should see if my future husband is any good at kissing," she'd said, chewing her bottom lip as she looked him up and down._

_His face had slackened, his frown melting away in an instant. "Kissing? Of course I know how to kiss – I've kissed lots of girls," he'd claimed._

"_Oh, such as?"_

"_Well, it doesn't matter who," he'd said, a little indignation creeping into his voice. "It's not as if you've kissed anyone, anyway… have you?"_

"_Actually, I have," she'd informed him confidently, taking another step closer and lowering her voice. "There's a stable boy at Highever who's taught me how to kiss," she whispered. "He's eighteen and very experienced," she'd continued, noting Nate's scowl with satisfaction. "I didn't think it proper to get married without first knowing how to kiss."_

"_This boy," Nathaniel had said with a hard look, "has he taken liberties with you?"_

"_Oh, no," she'd answered emphatically, shaking her head. "Actually, he wanted to touch my…" she looked down at her breasts, then at Nate's face, "but I wouldn't let him. I think only my husband should be allowed to touch them, don't you agree?"_

_Silence hung in the air between them for a few moments, and Caroline noticed that Nathaniel's breathing had quickened, and that his eyes flitted in every direction _away_ from her breasts._

"_Would…would _you_ like to touch them?" she'd offered and, realising she was biting her nails, placed her hands behind her back, deliberately pushing her chest outwards._

"_I, um, I'm not sure I should," he'd mumbled, more concerned with the possibility of his willy going hard, and her noticing that, rather than whether it was proper or not to touch... _those.

"_But you are going to be my husband one day," she'd said, fixing him with a determined look. "I think it would be permitted."_

"_Um," he'd mumbled, glancing around. Half of him wanted to run as far away from her as possible; the other half wanted to throw her to the ground and tear off her bodice with his teeth. He wanted to touch her so badly, but didn't want to make a fool of himself in front of her._

_Casting another wary glance around, Caroline made the decision for him and began unlacing her bodice. Nathaniel's eyes fell to her hands, mentally urging them to work faster._

"_Here, l-let me help you," he'd offered, and Caroline smiled, retracted her hands, and let Nathaniel's large, strong ones finish the task. He made quick work of the lacings and slowly pulled her bodice apart, revealing a gypsy-style chemise beneath. He hesitated for a moment. Should he touch her over the chemise or, he thought with a gulp, could he put his hands inside, and actually touch her _skin_? Would that be rude?_

_His decision was once again made for him as a small, delicate hand took his, and placed it above the seam of her chemise, just above her left breast. Nathaniel could not help his thumb from stroking the warm, soft flesh there as his fingers tucked under her arm. He closed his eyes and his head fell back against his shoulders as he gently squeezed._

"_Touch me, Nate," she'd whispered, moving his hand downward, and he forced himself to open his eyes and look at her as his hand was filled with sweet, soft, warm flesh._

"_Maker, Carrie," he'd whispered hoarsely as he cupped her, and slipped his other arm around her waist, bringing her closer. _Is that what a man would do with his wife?_ He'd wondered. _Well, I'm a man, now, and must act like one.

_To his complete delight, Carrie had closed her eyes and languorously stretched her neck and shoulders, easing herself into his touch. "That's nice, Nate," she'd purred with a delicious smile, and had wrapped her arms around his neck. "Now, I think you'd better kiss me."_

_Now this, he _was_ nervous about. Despite his claims to the contrary, he had never kissed anything other than the back of his hand or his pillow, and had no idea what to expect. _

_Carrie gently pulled his head toward her and he bent forward, suddenly painfully aware that he had gone hard, and that he was panting, as he placed his lips next to hers. _Now what do I do? _he wondered, a thrill of panic flooding through him._

_And then, the panic, the hardness and the panting ceased to matter – ceased to exist in his mind – as her lips grazed his, and she took his bottom lip into her mouth and softly sucked. He felt his entire body melt and he moaned loudly, heedless of who, if anyone, could hear as, at that moment, nobody else existed but her._

_They soon found their rhythm, and Nathaniel, his confidence. He removed his hand from beneath her chemise and wrapped his arms around her, his fingers splaying across her back, pulling her closer - he wanted to be as close to her as he possibly could – and surrendered himself wholly, delighting in her soft moans as he plundered her mouth._

_Eventually, to his utter despair, she'd broken the kiss and had stepped back, panting and flushed, shyly looking at the ground._

"_I, um, I think I'd better go back," she'd said reluctantly, "otherwise Mother will send out a search party for me."_

_Rudely jerked back to reality, he realised she was right, and he didn't want to think what would happen if they were caught like this. He nodded, and with her help, started to lace her bodice back up._

_When she was certain she looked tidy, she glanced up at him, immediately mesmerised by the way he was looking at her – like she was the only woman who had ever existed. Although she'd had little experience of love, she knew, without reservation, that at that moment, Nathaniel Howe was resolutely and irrevocably in love with her._

"_I really should be going," she'd said with a playful grin, winding a strand of hair around her finger._

"_Not yet," he'd answered, and brought his hands up to her face, stroking her right cheek with the back of his hand, and touching her lips with his other. Although he was by now agonisingly hard, he had no immediate desire to gratify himself; all he wanted to do was kiss her again, and to hear the sweet music of her soft moans._

"_Caroline!" they heard from a distance away._

"_It's Father! I must go!" she exclaimed, her eyes widening in panic, and she turned to leave._

"_Wait!" Nathaniel said quickly. "Will you… will you meet me again, tomorrow?"_

"_Here?" she asked. He nodded._

"_I will," she promised, and walked away from him, turning to face him one last time before she emerged from behind the stable. "You're much better than the stable boy, Nathaniel," she'd complimented him. "I shall not kiss him again."_

_She'd turned, gathered her skirts and had broken into a run, leaving Nathaniel breathless. "Coming, Father!" he heard her call. _

They'd met in secret several more times after that, whenever the two families had visited each other. Much to Nathaniel's frustration, they never went any further than they had behind the stable – she had never offered, and he had never presumed to ask – but secretly he was also pleased; she truly was a lady, and he wanted her to be pure when they wed.

Shortly after Caroline's sixteenth birthday, something happened during a visit to Highever. The Howes had departed abruptly, and Caroline had not had a chance to say goodbye to Nathaniel. When she had asked her mother what had happened, Eleanor had told her that Nathaniel and his father had had a bitter argument, and Arl Howe had felt it best that they return to Amaranthine.

"_But when will I see him again, Mother?" Caroline had asked._

_Eleanor had sighed and taken her daughter's hand. "I'm so sorry, my dear – your Father told me that Arl Howe intends to send Nathaniel to squire for a bann in the Free Marches. That is what the argument was about."_

_Caroline had leapt to her feet. "The Free Marches? But that's across the Waking Sea! How will I see him then?"_

"_Darling," Eleanor began, standing and placing her hands on Caroline's arms, "it looks as though our plans for you and Nathaniel will have to be… rethought."_

"_No! We're betrothed, Mother! There must be some way!"_

"_Oh, darling, you were not betrothed – we had only talked of a possible marriage and had not yet announced your engagement. I'm truly sorry, darling – there's nothing I can do. Arl Howe is Nathaniel's father, and his mind is made up."_

"_But, Mother…" Caroline said weakly, her bottom lip trembling._

"_Oh, Carrie my dear, do come here." Eleanor wrapped her arms around her daughter and pulled her close. "Do not despair, my beloved daughter. There are plenty of other eligible young men who desire your suit."_

"_But I don't want anybody else!" Carrie had cried, pulling away from her mother. "I love Nathaniel and he loves me!"_

_Eleanor's face dropped like a stone, and her voice wavered as she spoke. "I-I had no idea, darling… I thought you were just friends. I'm so sorry – please, come here…"_

"_Leave me alone!" Caroline had yelled, and ran out of the room in tears._


	2. Light and Dark

**_Thank you for your reviews, alerts and favourites. To the guest who left a review - the site doesn't allow us to reply to guest reviews, so we'll say thank-you here!_**

9:24, Highever

After learning of his daughter's distress, Teyrn Cousland sent for her to join him and Eleanor in the parlour, where the family spent much of their free time together. Caroline had sloped in, dragging her feet behind her, causing her mother to groan and roll her eyes as years of her daughter's instruction in comportment had seemed to vanish in an instant.

"You wanted to see me, Mother, Father?" Caroline had asked wearily, puffy-eyed and red-nosed, standing stiffly with her hands folded behind her back.

"Sit down, pup," her father had softly said. "Let us talk."

She did as instructed and, remembering that her mother placed so much importance on her bearing and mien, sat with a straight back at the edge of the chair, her legs crossed at the ankles beneath, with her hands folded in her lap.

"Pup," her father began, "your Mother has made me aware of your feelings towards Nathaniel. Before Arl Howe departed, I had a private word with him…"

Caroline's eyes lit up and she looked hopefully at her father.

"…please, pup, let me finish," he said, holding his hand up, his heart aching as he noticed the slump of her shoulders. "I am afraid he is quite adamant about his plans for Nathaniel. However," he added with a wary glance at Eleanor, "he _did_ suggest Thomas as a possible suitor, instead-"

"Thomas?" Caroline interrupted, not even trying to hide her distaste. "_Thomas_? Do you really think so little of me, Father, that you would have me hitched to that… that… ugh! He makes my skin crawl!"

"Caroline, please," Eleanor said sternly. "You speak of the future Bann of Amaranthine," although secretly she was pleased by her daughter's response. She had no desire to see Caroline wedded to Thomas Howe who was, quite frankly, a snake – just like his father.

Caroline, forgetting her posture, slumped in her chair and folded her arms, glowering out of one of the windows.

"Lady Landra has also informed me that Dairren is quite taken with you," Eleanor ventured.

Caroline laughed loudly and bitterly. "Ha! I think you would find Thomas Howe to be a more suitable match for _him_. Haven't you heard? He was caught in a compromising position with one of the-"

"That's quite enough, Caroline!" Bryce said firmly. "Young ladies do _not_ give voice to gossip and rumours. You will not repeat that again – have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, _Father_," she replied flatly without looking at him.

Bryce, at a loss, sighed and shook his head. Never before had he known his daughter to be so belligerent or sullen.

"Pup," he said in a softer tone, "wait outside for a moment while your Mother and I talk."

Without looking at her parents, Caroline rose. "Fine," she muttered. "I'll wait outside while you decide _my _future."

"Bryce, this is intolerable," she heard her mother say as she closed the door and slumped against it.

She wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes, feeling the sting of guilt at the back of her throat. She loved her parents dearly, and knew that this was not their fault, but they clearly had no idea how she felt. She was sixteen years old, and they still treated her like a child, deciding what was best for her! What did they know about love? They'd had an arranged marriage!

Although her parents' marriage was a strong one – they were unusual among Ferelden's nobility in that they shared a bed chamber – Caroline vowed there and then that they would _not _force her into marrying anyone she didn't want to be with – and she intended not to _want_ to bewith _anybody_. Yes, she'd end up as a cackling, toothless old spinster who owned twenty cats. No, _fifty. _ That would show them!

Eventually, the door opened, Bryce called her inside, and invited her to sit down.

"Pup, your Mother and I have decided…"

_Here it comes, _she thought, preparing herself for an argument.

"…as Oriana has just given birth to Oren, that an heir to the Cousland House is now assured," he continued. Caroline frowned and her eyes darted back and forth between her parents.

"If you truly have your heart set on marrying Nathaniel, pup, then you have our blessing to wait for him to return from the Free Marches."

Eleanor smiled warmly as Caroline stared mutely at the two of them.

"Now, I must speak to Seamus about the drainage problem in the northern field of the estate," he said as he rose with a groan and placed a hand on Caroline's shoulder. "We'll speak later, pup. Stay with your mother for a spell. For some reason, she can never find you when she wants you, lately – particularly during the Howes' recent visit," he added with a smirk.

"Father, I…I-" Caroline stammered, turning in her chair to face him as he opened the door.

"It's all right, pup. Your mother and I may be _old_, but not _too_ old to remember when we were first promised to one another," he said as he and Eleanor shared a loving glance. "I'll be back in time for supper," he declared, closing the door.

Eleanor patted the seat that Bryce had occupied, and a dumbstruck Caroline joined her on the settee.

"Mother… I-I'm sorry…"

"Hush, dear," Eleanor said soothingly, stroking her daughter's hair. "I remember having a similar conversation to this with my parents when I was not much older than you are, now. They had another man – not your father – in mind for me, but I had met your father several times by then, and had fallen head over heels in love with him."

"Mother?" Caroline said in astonishment. "I thought that you and Father had had an arranged marriage?"

"We did," Eleanor replied with a sly smile, "but our parents were not quite aware of how strong our feelings already were." She leaned closer to Caroline and whispered. "I worked on my parents, and convinced them that one day your father would become the teyrn of Highever, and that such a marriage would be most beneficial to our family. Eventually, I persuaded them, and my father congratulated me on my far-sightedness."

Caroline gaped in awe at her mother, seeing her in a completely new light.

"I knew, even at such a young age, that your father was the man I wanted to marry," Eleanor elaborated. "I knew that I would not settle for any other, and am glad that I did not, for I have never once regretted my choice. I can see that you are just as determined as I was at your age, darling. Nathaniel is a fine young man – a little serious, perhaps, but better that than to be a fool, and I am certain that you will bring him out of his shell. Your father and I would be pleased to welcome him as a son, when the time is right, of course."

"Oh, Mother!" Caroline gushed, throwing her arms around Eleanor. "Thank you, thank you!"

Eleanor laughed softly and placed a gentle kiss on Caroline's forehead. "Now, I do not know how much longer Nathaniel will be in Ferelden, darling. Perhaps you had better write to him – if you do it now, we have a rider leaving for Denerim tonight. I am certain he will make a detour to Amaranthine for you."

"I shall write to him immediately!" Caroline announced as she shot off the settee and headed for the door, before turning toward the smiling Eleanor. "Oh, Mother," she said and walked back to Eleanor, bent down and embraced her. "I love you so much. I will never be able to repay you and Father for this."

"You will repay us by being happy, my dear," Eleanor said, cradling her daughter's face in her hands, "and by giving us a _dozen_ grandchildren when you and Nathaniel finally wed!"

The two women laughed. "How about fifty!" Caroline trilled, and sailed out of the room with light feet and a song in her heart.

~0~O~0~

9:24, Vigil's Keep

_Dear Nathaniel,_

_I shall make this letter brief as I have to catch the rider before he leaves for Denerim._

_I have just heard the dreadful news that you are to be posted overseas. Take heart, though; my parents have assured me that we can still marry, when you return, if that is still your intent._

_Father told me that it may be several years before you return to us. I want to make it absolutely clear that I will wait for as long as it takes for you to come home to me, and make me your wife._

_Please keep yourself safe, Nathaniel. And if ever you feel lonely, remember that I love you, and will be waiting for you when you come home._

_I will count the days until I see you again, my dearest Nathaniel. Take care of yourself._

_Carrie. X_

Nathaniel folded the letter, placed it in his pocket, and resolved not to read it again for at least another hour for fear of wearing it out, having read it at least twenty times by now. It had arrived that morning, and the timing of its delivery had been fortuitous, for today was the day he departed for the Free Marches. He would be accompanied by two of his father's soldiers, the arl too occupied with arling business to see off his eldest son.

He began walking toward the gardens, where he hoped to find his friend Samuel and bid him farewell. The two of them had become very close over the years; in some ways Nathaniel felt that Samuel was the brother Thomas should have been, although they'd had to exercise caution, as his father did not approve of Nathaniel being friends with a 'knife-ear'.

Before he reached the gate, he turned and looked back at the keep. It was his home, and one day would belong to him, but he had very few happy memories of the place. Although his early years had been happy from what he could remember of them, his teenage years had been anything but; his mother had died during childbirth two years earlier in 9:22, his sister had been sent away shortly after that, and his relationships with both his father and brother had always been troubled.

He turned away from the keep, checked that Caroline's letter was safely stowed in his pocket, and entered the gardens.

He found Samuel hard at work digging up potatoes. The elf stopped for a moment, braced his hands against his back and grimaced as he stretched.

"You poor old sod," Nathaniel teased from behind him. "Is this getting too much for you, old man?"

Samuel turned towards Nathaniel and laughed, mopping his face with a handkerchief. "I'd like to see _you_ dig potatoes when you're about to reach your fiftieth year!"

Nathaniel sighed and looked into the distance. "I'm sorry I won't be here to celebrate your birthday with you, Samuel."

"Hey! At least you were here for your sixteenth, and we'll celebrate mine when you return home, Nate," Samuel promised with a slap to Nathaniel's arm.

"It may be several years before I return," said Nathaniel with a sly grin, "and by then you may only have one or two marbles rolling around in your head."

"Cheeky young stripling," Samuel replied, unable to conceal his grin. An awkward silence followed; they both knew that Nathaniel had come to say goodbye.

"So you're off, then?" Samuel asked with false bonhomie. "Looking forward to your big adventure, Nate?"

Nathaniel shrugged his shoulders and huffed. "I don't know. Part of me won't be sad to leave. There's not much for me to stay here for anymore, not after… after... Mother."

"I know, son," Samuel replied, and silence once again descended.

Nathaniel grunted softly to himself. "Maybe… maybe Father will finally be able to find a few kind words for me if I prove myself as a squire."

Samuel looked at the ground, sorely tempted to finally tell Nathaniel _exactly_ what he thought of his father.

"Samuel," Nathaniel said after a few moments. "I wanted to thank you."

"Nate, there's no need-"

"I wanted to thank you," Nathaniel repeated, "for everything you've done for me, and for being such a good friend to me. Probably the best friend I've ever had."

"Oh, go on, away with you," said Samuel, waving him away, but he was clearly moved by the youngster's words. "You don't want to be late."

Nathaniel held out his hand and Samuel shook it. Then, casting a quick look around, the elf held his arms open, and the two men embraced, quickly pulling apart and clearing their throats.

"Samuel?" Nathaniel asked quietly, taking a sealed note out of his pocket. "I was wondering if I could ask one more thing of you?"

"Anything, Nate, you know that."

"The next time the Couslands come to visit, I was wondering…"

"Ah, it's for Lady Caroline, is it?" Samuel asked, spotting the note.

"Yes," Nathaniel replied, and handed it to the elf. "Please make sure she gets it. She-she…" he lowered his voice to a whisper. "She has promised herself to me, and says she will wait until I return, with her parents' blessing," he confided as a soppy grin lit up his dark features.

"That's wonderful, Nate!" Samuel exclaimed happily.

"In my note I have also promised to save myself for her."

"Woah, I don't want to know what's on the note," Samuel chuckled. "I promise she will have it as soon as her family next visit."

"Will you tell her that as soon as I am settled, I will write to her with an address she can reply to? I don't know if I will be stationed at Bann Regis' estate, or if I will travel, but whatever I'm doing, I'll get word to her."

"Sure, Nate. She's a lovely girl – I'm really happy for you," Samuel replied.

Nathaniel shook his head and grinned. "She _is_ lovely. I really have no idea what she sees in me, but she's made a promise now, and it's too late for her to back out!"

"Whatever it takes to get the girl, huh, Nate?" Samuel said with a wink.

"Precisely. You know, if it weren't for her, then I doubt I'd return to Ferelden at all," Nathaniel replied sadly and once again held his hand out to Samuel, the two friends shaking hands for the final time. "Farewell, Samuel. Do look after yourself."

"You too, Nate – it won't be the same here without you," Samuel answered as Nathaniel released his hand and walked away without a backward glance.

~0~O~0~

9:32, Vigil's Keep

"He's been locked up for three nights now, Commander. Good men _died _while he was safely locked in his cell."

"Let me talk to him," said Caroline.

"As you wish, Commander. The seneschal will want to know what you want doing with him. A gallows is being erected outside as we speak."

Anders who, with Oghren, had accompanied the Commander, grabbed the jailor's arm and stopped him. "A _gallows_? Isn't that a bit extreme for a burglar?"

"This is no mere burglar, Warden. It took four of the Orlesian Wardens to get him into his cell, and he still managed to knock one of them out cold. He's dangerous."

Oghren grunted. "Still, you've gotta admire the stones on the kid – breaking into a fortress full of Grey Wardens? He's got some nerve – either that, or he's soft in the head."

"I think either possibility is likely, Oghren," Caroline groaned with a none-too-subtle glance at Anders. "We seem to attract those kinds of people, don't we?"

"Oy!" the mage protested, feigning a pout.

"Present company excepted, of course," she reassured him with a wink.

"Well, if you'll follow me, Commander, I'll take you to the cells," said the jailor.

"Lead on," she instructed.

The jailor took them down a flight of steps which led to the basement; there were three cells, one on the far wall, and two on the left. A small desk and chair sat against the right-hand wall, above which a torch was lit. The intermittent dripping of water could be heard, and the overpowering smell of stale urine and damp rot assailed them as soon as they entered. Anders started retching immediately, then snorted and spat into a corner.

"Sorry," he said contritely to Caroline, who had covered her nose with her sleeve.

She nodded and beckoned the jailor to her. "You _work_ in here?" she asked in a muffled voice.

He shook his head. "I spend as little time down here as possible," he admitted. "I only come down here when the prisoner gets his food and when it's time for slopping out. It's not a nice place. Arl Howe's soldiers used to spend a couple of nights in here if they didn't come up to his exacting standards. Poor Captain Lowan was banged up a few times, as well, before…" He paused, shaking his head.

"You mean the captain of the guard?" Caroline asked. "Before what?"

The jailor gulped and shifted nervously. "A few years back, the arl ordered Captain Lowan to do something which the captain disagreed with, and he told the Arl so. Not long after that, he disappeared, and was never heard of again. Garavel took over as captain two years ago."

"What did Lowan disagree with?" she asked.

"That, I don't know, Commander," the jailor lied; Captain Lowan had in fact been vehemently opposed to the arl's plan to murder the Cousland family.

Caroline nodded, and the jailor was relieved that she could not properly see his face in the gloom.

"Look, I'm sorry," Anders began, "but can we get this over with? I really don't want to stay down here any longer than we have to."

"Yes, good idea," Caroline agreed, making a mental note to speak to the jailor in more detail later on.

He led them over to a cell set into the left-hand wall. "This is the one," he said, taking out his keys and unlocking the door with his sword ready. As the door was opened, a small amount of light from the torch on the opposite wall entered the cell, revealing the outline of a man reclined on his cot with his long, booted legs crossed at the ankle – his face, however, was concealed by the shadows.

"Stand, prisoner!" The jailor ordered. "The warden-commander is here to see you."

A rasping laugh could be heard from within the cell. "The entertainments have finally arrived, have they?" the prisoner mocked.

The jailor gestured with his hand for Caroline to enter the cell, but she hesitated and shook her head before raising a finger to her lips as the jailor gave her a puzzled look.

"Sit back down!" the jailor commanded, waving his sword at the prisoner.

The prisoner huffed. "Sit down, stand up – do you want me to do a little dance for you as well?"

"What's the matter?" Anders whispered to her.

Caroline walked away from the cell, stood next to the basement entrance and stared into space. Anders and Oghren exchanged a confused glance, and Anders approached her, stopping a few feet away.

"Commander?"

She turned and looked at Anders, the torchlight making the confusion in her eyes evident. "I, um," she began, and then turned away again, shaking her head.

"Do you know him?" Anders asked.

"I-I'm not sure," she said unsteadily. "His voice…" She stared at the far wall and shook her head again. "But it… it couldn't be. It _couldn't _be."

"Who?"

"Anders," Caroline said, turning toward him and grasping his arms. "Will you talk to him? Without me, I mean – I-I just need to hear him speak some more."

"What shall I talk to him about?"

"Anything – the weather, the price of fish, I don't care. Please."

"All right, all right… just calm down," he soothed. "Come on."

Caroline followed him to the cell, standing well clear of the door. Anders nodded at the guard and entered the cell.

"So," the prisoner began, "they've finally taken pity on me and provided me with some company, have they? Well, you're very _pretty_, but I'm afraid I don't do men –_ if_ that's what you are," he sneered.

"Oh? That's a shame," Anders replied lightly, "because I _do_, but I normally don't go for the bloodied, battered, pissed-off type, you know? Not my cup of tea."

"My loss, then," the prisoner replied with biting sarcasm. "What do you want?"

"Oh, just the standard Warden welcoming committee," Anders replied. "Just wanted to see if your accommodation was to your liking, that sort of thing."

"It's a real home from home, thank you for asking," the prisoner spat. "Maker, don't tell me _you're _the warden-commander, because Amaranthine is well and truly fucked if you are."

"Well, now you've _definitely _ruined your chances with me," Anders retorted dryly, folding his arms. "Dinner, maybe, but a grope's _right _out."

"Anders!" he heard Caroline whisper from outside.

He exited the cell and approached Caroline, who had once again moved to the entrance. "Well?" he asked.

"Did you get a look at him?" she asked. "Can you describe him?"

"It was hard to make him out in detail," he answered, "but he had dark hair – brown or black, long, and braided at the sides."

Caroline frowned for a moment. "Anything else?"

"His eyes," Anders answered immediately with a shudder. "Very, very pale and cold-looking. He sent a shiver down my spine when he looked at me. He's tall, and is wearing leather armour – you know, the kind with a skirt? And gloves, too – he looks like an archer to me."

Caroline leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.

"You _do_ know him, don't you?" Anders guessed. "Who is he?"

She opened her eyes and looked at her feet. For a moment she didn't answer, and Anders waited patiently for her to speak.

"You know I mentioned briefly… my family… what happened to them?"

"It's all right, I know what you mean – you don't need to go into detail," Anders replied in concern.

"What is he _doing _here?" she asked herself, then faced Anders and took a deep breath. "That-that's Rendon Howe's son, Nathaniel."

Anders's eyes flashed in the dim light. "What?" he fumed, removing his staff from the strap on his back. "I'll save them the trouble of hanging the bastard!"

"No, wait!" she pleaded, grabbing his arm as he turned away from her. "Wait," she whispered.

"Did he have something to do with what happened?" Anders demanded, his voice uncharacteristically hard.

"I-I don't know!" she cried, and laid a hand over her chest, breathing rapidly.

"Hey, just calm down," Anders said softly, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

"No, Anders – he couldn't have. He _couldn't_… I know him. Well, at least I thought I did," she mumbled. "He was in the Free Marches. He _couldn't_ have had anything to do with it. I-I wonder when he got back to Ferelden?"

Anders listened as she debated with herself. "When did he leave for the Free Marches?" he asked.

"Uh, 9:24."

"That was nearly eight years ago. He might not be the person you remember. Look," he said quietly. "Let me question him – you don't need to see him at all. He doesn't even need to know you're here."

Caroline considered his offer for a moment; for the past two years she had struggled with her grief over the loss of her family, and only lately had she started to feel more like her old self – and she wasn't sure if she was ready to relive it all again.

"No, I have to know," she said to Anders, not sounding entirely sure of herself. "I have to hear it from _him_. I can't believe that he had anything to do with it… but I need to _hear _it. Can you understand that?"

Anders sighed. "Yes, I suppose that makes sense. Just be careful, Commander – he's, well, he doesn't seem like a very nice person to me."

"But he used to be – when I knew him, at least."

"Do you want to get this out of the way, then?" he asked, and Caroline nodded. Anders walked back into the cell, lit the torch within and exited, feeling the prisoner's eyes boring holes into his back.

"Good luck, Commander," he whispered to Caroline as she slowly stepped into the cell.


	3. Tainted Love

Caroline barely recognised the man before her as she entered the cell; far from being the gangly, awkward teenager she remembered, he was now even taller, and had filled out considerably – his arms and shoulders were particularly broad. His hair which, when she had last seen him, was closely-cropped – on the insistence of his father, who had always said that long hair on men was slovenly – now cascaded down his back in a glossy sheet of obsidian, almost reaching his waist.

The Orlesians had obviously taken hard measures in order to subdue him: his face was a mosaic of weals and contusions, and grotesque flowers of green, yellow, purple and black bloomed along his jaw and around his eyes. His nose had clearly been badly broken at some point and had never been set.

The two of them studied one another for a long moment. Caroline had not changed much during the last eight years, except that she now usually wore her blonde hair in a ponytail; she simply didn't have time for convoluted braids or fussy styles. Nathaniel obviously recognised her immediately – although his face remained expressionless, Caroline detected an almost imperceptible creasing around his eyes, and he unconsciously clasped his hands together, his knuckles turning white.

"Hello, Nathaniel. It's been a long time," she said coolly, hoping he couldn't tell she was perspiring.

"Is this meant to be some kind of _joke_?" he asked scathingly, placing his palms on his cot, ready to stand.

"Remain seated!" ordered the jailor from outside.

"You _told_ me to stand up a few moments ago!" Nathaniel snapped, barely able to control the emotion in his voice. "Make your bloody mind up!"

Caroline walked over to the door. "Please, leave us," she said to the guard.

Anders stepped forward to speak, but the guard beat him to it. "I'm sorry, Commander, but I'm not prepared to leave you alone with him."

"Neither am I," Anders added firmly.

"I want to speak to him in private," she said with equal firmness. "You may wait outside the door, if you wish."

The guard hesitated, but Anders didn't. "We'll shut the door, but I'm staying right here," he said as he closed the door and peered through the hatch. "Take it or leave it, Commander. If he makes one wrong move, I'll paralyse him."

"And _then_ you'd be able to have your wicked way with me, wouldn't you, Precious?" Nathaniel said in a mock-seductive voice.

"I don't think I'll bother," Anders sniffed, his nose high in the air. "I've gone right off you." He stepped away from the door a little, but still remained within earshot.

Caroline stood next to the door, not certain whether she should step any closer to Nathaniel; he appeared to lounge casually on his cot, but a sense of watchfulness and latent hostility emanated from him in almost palpable waves.

"When did you get back to Ferelden?" she asked in as steady a voice as she could manage.

Nathaniel sat up with alarming speed and clasped his hands together in front of him. "What, no 'how have you been, Nathaniel, in the eight years since I last saw you?'" he sniped, cocking his head to one side.

Caroline hung her head for a moment and took a deep breath through her nose. She didn't want to get into a fight with him but, by the Maker, she'd give him one if he persisted.

"In the eight years since you _promised_ to wait for me?" he continued, a harsh edge to his voice. "In the eight years since you professed your _love_ for me, then changed your mind and took up with Maric's by-blow, instead?"

"Now, hold your horses!" she protested, taking a step toward him. "What was I meant to do? You never wrote to me! I waited six years for you –_ six years_!"

Nathaniel slowly rose to his feet and looked at Caroline with undiluted malice. "How _dare_ you accuse _me_ of not writing? I wrote _hundreds_ of letters to you! You're the one who never wrote to _me!"_

Hearing shouting, Anders appeared at the door as Nathaniel stepped towards Caroline, leaving mere inches between them. "Oy, Howe! Keep your distance from her!" he called through the door.

"This doesn't concern you, mage!" Nathaniel snarled at him, heading for the door, suddenly halting as Anders's staff was shoved through the hatch.

"Back off or I'll cremate you!" Anders threatened.

"With _her _in here? I doubt it," Nathaniel retorted.

"I'm _very _precise," the mage answered, moving away from the door once more. "Just watch yourself," he warned.

Nathaniel folded his arms and stood with his back to Caroline, his hunched shoulders betraying his tension.

"I'm not here to discuss letters, or who I have or haven't _taken up _with, which is really none of your business anymore," she said brusquely, put on the defensive by Nathaniel's behaviour.

He turned around to face her, looked at her uncertainly for a moment, and then looked at the floor. "What _do_ you want, then?" he mumbled.

"I'll ask you again – when did you return to Ferelden?"

"What difference does it make? What do _you_ care?" he replied, an eyebrow arching sharply.

"Are you even _aware_ of what happened to my family?" she asked, realising her voice sounded shrill.

He paused for a moment, an unspoken question in his eyes as he regarded her. "Yes, I'd heard about that," he said cautiously.

"For the last time, Nathaniel – when did you get back to Ferelden?"

He folded his arms and fixed her with an icy look. "What are you implying, Caroline?" he asked so quietly she could barely hear him.

"I think you know exactly what I'm implying, Nathaniel," she answered, trying to provoke a reaction in him.

"Are you suggesting I had something to do with-" he began.

"You tell me," she interrupted, her voice hard and cold.

Without warning, Nathaniel's demeanour changed; his posture stiffened, and his eyes glinted malevolently. "Did you kill my father?" he growled. "It would make sense – I know a Warden killed him, and I doubt that clown outside could have done it!"

"I asked _you _first!" she yelled, taking him by surprise, and she advanced on him, causing him to backpedal a step. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Anders hovering by the door. "And you don't seem to be very sorry that my entire family was murdered by _your _father, Nathaniel!"

"Your family was going to sell us out to the Orlesians!" he protested, not realising what he was saying; his feigned composure and self-assuredness were falling away from him rapidly, pushed out by his rising panic and guilt.

"You can't possibly justify his treachery!" she seethed.

"Commander!" Anders called from outside the door.

"Answer me!" she demanded.

"_You_ answer _me,_" he hissed, jabbing his thumb against his chest. "Did. You. Kill. My. Father?"

She took two steps toward him. "Yes, Nathaniel – I killed the bastard, and it felt _good _to do it! He deserved _every twist of my knife _as I plunged it through his _neck_!"

"Commander!" Anders shouted as he burst through the door. "I think this conversation needs to end, now!"

"It was _justice_!" she shrieked, tears coursing down her face as she remembered her parents, and Oriana and Oren.

"Justice?" Nathaniel laughed bitterly. "Well, if you _truly _want justice, perhaps you'd better finish off the _rest_ of the Howes, then! I'm the only one left, as far as I know – why not finish it now, Caroline? Just stick me with that _knife _of yours – who would know?"

"That's it," said Anders, pushing his way past Nathaniel and grabbing Caroline's arm. "Out," he ordered.

As Caroline was pulled toward the door, she turned back. "Oh, no, Nathaniel – I'm not making it _that _easy for you," she spat.

As the jailor slammed and locked the door, Caroline was already on her way out of the room.

"Commander!" he called after her. "What do you want done with him?"

"He can rot down here, for all I care!" she vociferated and bounded up the steps, with Anders and Oghren close behind.

~0~O~0~

"That went well, didn't it?" Caroline said morosely as they stepped out in the courtyard and took a few breaths of clean air. "So much for staying calm."

"Here – take a slug of this, Commander," offered Oghren, passing her a gourd of rum. Caroline took a deep swig from it and passed it back to the dwarf with a grateful nod.

"Phew – that stuff smells like distillation agent!" Anders complained, wrinkling his nose. "Still, it smells better than that dungeon."

"So, who was he to you? Really?" Oghren asked, ignoring Anders's pointed glare.

"Just a family friend," she said distractedly, looking over towards the stables, remembering the first time she and Nathaniel had met in secret. "I need to speak to Varel," she announced, heading toward the main keep.

"Do you want us to come with you?" asked Anders.

Caroline turned back towards the two men. "No, I'll speak to him in private, but thanks – to both of you – for your help. I'll catch up with you later, all right?"

"Sure thing, Commander," said Oghren.

"Yeah – catch you later," Anders called after her.

~0~O~0~

Varel stood as Caroline entered his office, and waited for her to be seated before taking his own seat again. "So, you've been to visit our guest, then?" he asked. "What do you make of him?"

"Do you know who he is?" she asked the seneschal.

"No, he wouldn't give his name to the guards. Did _you_ have any luck?"

"Varel, I didn't need to ask his name. I already know him, and so do you," she replied.

"Oh?" said Varel with a quizzical look. "Well, now you've piqued my interest – who is he?"

"Varel, it's… it's Nathaniel," she answered, watching him for a reaction.

"Nathaniel? But I only know one Nath… surely you don't mean Nathaniel _Howe_, Commander?" Caroline nodded, and Varel leaned forward in his chair, frowning at the desk. "I wonder when he returned from the Free Marches?" he wondered quietly.

"I asked him that several times, but he wouldn't say."

"How did he seem to you, Commander?"

"He-he's different, Varel, not how we remember him at all," Caroline said quietly. Varel remained silent and waited for her to continue. "He's so_ bitter_," she elaborated, "so angry. Although I suppose I didn't help much. I lost my temper and admitted that I killed his father."

Varel grunted softly. "Well, I suppose he'd have found out eventually."

"Yes, perhaps," Caroline agreed, "but maybe he didn't need to hear that I enjoyed every second of it."

"That's understandable, Commander, considering what the bastard took from you."

Caroline rose and turned away from him for a moment. "But I _didn't_ enjoy it," she confided. "It gave me no satisfaction at all to kill him. It didn't suddenly make everything better. It… didn't bring them back." After a pause, she turned back to face him. "I looked at him just now, Varel, and saw his father's face. I wanted to hurt him. I didn't realise what I was saying."

Varel stood up and moved around to the other side of the desk, nearer to Caroline, but keeping a discreet distance. "Do you _really_ believe Nathaniel had anything to do with what happened to your family?" he asked gently.

She looked at Varel, holding his steady gaze for a moment before shaking her head. "No, of course not… this is such a mess," she said, covering her face with her hands. "How are we ever going to get past this? What's to become of him?"

"If I might make a suggestion, Commander?" ventured the seneschal.

"Please do," she replied heavily, "because I don't know _what_ to do."

"Well, I think he needs to be moved out of the dungeon, first of all. I've spent a bit of time down there myself, and it's not an environment conducive to positive thinking. Perhaps some light and fresh air may be helpful in getting him to open up."

"Yes, you're right," said Caroline. "You know him much better than I do, after all. Will you come down with me and make the arrangements? Maybe he'd respond better to you."

Varel cleared his throat. "Begging your pardon, Commander, but I think Nathaniel would respond better to _you_."

"But you were like a father to him when he was a youngster, Varel – much more so than his own father," she said with a confused frown.

"Commander," he said with a sigh, "Nathaniel and I did not part on good terms. I don't think he would be pleased to learn of my presence here."

"What happened?" she asked.

He sighed. "After Arlessa Howe died, Nathaniel became more and more withdrawn," he explained, "although he always responded well to you. I tried to reach out to him, but he didn't want to know – he wanted to mourn in his own way. By the time he left for the Free Marches, he was barely speaking to me, and only then when it could not be avoided. I'm sorry, Commander, but I really feel that my presence would be a hindrance."

"And mine isn't?" she remarked heavily. "I killed his father."

"Commander, I am your servant," he declared. "If you wish me to accompany you to the dungeons, then I will go without hesitation, but it is my firm belief that you will have more luck getting through to him than I would. He always was fond of you."

Caroline stared at the far wall, a heavy frown marring her features as she appeared to consider Varel's words. Suddenly, with a gasp, her head snapped around to face him, a look of alarm on her face.

"What's wrong?" Varel asked.

"There are still darkspawn in the basement!" she cried, turning to face west, as her Warden sense homed in on a location.

"How many?" Varel asked, following her out of the office.

"Twenty or twenty-one. One's an emissary," she stated. "Wait," she said, stopping for a moment and concentrating. "Oghren's in the yard – I can't sense Anders, he must be further away. Their taint is so weak at the moment."

"I'll find him, Commander," said Varel, briskly heading for the inner keep.

"Thank you," she said. "Please have him meet me by the western guard tower."

Varel found Anders in his quarters, and sent him outside, where he found Caroline talking with Sergeant Maverlies.

"Are there any maps of the basement tunnels?" Caroline asked the sergeant. "We don't want to get lost on our way back."

"None that I know of, Commander," replied Maverlies with a sheepish shrug. "How far away are the darkspawn?"

Caroline's eyes narrowed as they fixed on a point in the distance. "A couple of hectares," she estimated. "We need to go soon before they sense me and call some more of their friends."

"Well, you can't get in through here," said Maverlies, pointing to a small outbuilding which housed one of the many entrances to the basement. "That blasted Dworkin and his explosives… there's been another cave-in. Even if you could get through, it's not safe at the moment."

"Where's the next nearest westerly basement entrance?" asked Caroline.

The Sergeant thought for a moment. "The dungeon, Commander," she said confidently.

"The dungeon?" Caroline replied and paused for a minute or two. "I have an idea," she announced, heading there with Anders and Oghren in tow. "We're going to need four torches," she instructed.

"Right away!" Maverlies answered, and ran to one of the stores, where she quickly retrieved four ready-made torches, and smeared the ends with tallow before taking them down to the basement, where she walked in on an argument.

"Commander, this is absolutely crackers! There's no telling what he'll do once he's out!" the jailor protested as Maverlies entered, and passed the torches to Anders.

"I don't have time to argue with you – open the cell," Caroline commanded.

"Wait – is that who the fourth torch is for?" Anders asked in dismay. "You're not bringing him with us, are you?"

"That's enough!" Caroline snapped and turned to the jailor. "Open the cell – now!"

The jailor groaned to himself and took out his bunch of keys. "Yes, Commander," he replied, and unlocked the cell door.

"You two – get that grate open and those torches lit," she said to Oghren and Anders, pointing to the far corner of the room. The two new Wardens made a face, but obeyed her command nonetheless.

Caroline entered the cell. "Nathaniel, you know your way around the basement tunnels, don't you?"

He stared at her and didn't answer.

"Well?" she demanded. "Didn't you used to play down there as a child?"

"_Very_ fitting," Anders drawled from across the room.

"Is there a point to this? Or are you going to continue to ask banal questions?" Nathaniel asked snidely.

"I need your help navigating the tunnels," she said. "We're going down to stop a pack of darkspawn that are headed this way-"

"You can go and soak your head if you think I'm lifting a finger to help _you_ lot," he huffed.

"Fine," she retorted. "You have another option, then. If we get lost in the tunnels, _you _can deal with the darkspawn as they come up from the basement." She exited the cell and addressed Maverlies and the jailor. "Go up to the yard and lock us in," she ordered. "We should be back in a couple of hours. Have someone posted outside so they can hear us when we return."

"You want me to lock him in his cell, Commander?" asked the jailor.

"No – he can either help us or he can be slain by the darkspawn when they come up here," she replied, heading towards Anders and Oghren, who had the torches lit and were ready to descend.

"As you wish, ma'am," the jailor replied with a flicker of a smile. "Be careful down there." He and Maverlies ascended the steps up to ground level, and closed the door to the dungeon; several bolts could be heard being slid into place.

Oghren went down first, using the footholds that had been hewn into the rock walls. When he reached the bottom, he moved away a little and called for the torches to be thrown down.

Anders gestured for Caroline to go next and, as he helped her to position herself, he glanced at the cell. Nathaniel was obviously interested in what they were doing; he stood on the threshold of his cell, watching them fixedly. Anders realised for the first time just how tall Nathaniel actually was – he was at least 6'4".

"Hey, Commander," Anders whispered as Caroline started to descend. "What if he replaces the grate once we're down? He could trap us down there."

"He wouldn't," Caroline speculated, remembering the Nathaniel she once knew but, not wishing to enter a bickering match with Anders, she relented. Eight years was a very long time, she mused, and she was still uncertain of who Nathaniel was _now_. "All right, we'll take precautions," she said to the mage.

"Thanks, Commander," he answered with a delighted grin, proud that he'd made a useful suggestion.

"Oghren," she called down. "Move aside. We're going to drop the grate down – it'll make an awful din when it lands."

"Gotcha!" he called up. "Ready."

"Hang about – won't the darkspawn hear it?" Anders asked as he pushed the grate diagonally through the basement entrance.

"No they're too far away," she answered, pressing herself against the wall to make room. "Here it comes!" she called down.

Anders released the grate, and as it hit the floor below, an almighty clang reverberated through the lower parts of the Keep.

"Bloody hell! Are you insane, or something?" Nathaniel hissed from within his cell.

Ignoring him, Anders began to descend, leaving an unlit torch at the entrance.

"Who's going to bring the grate back up?" he asked Caroline as they reached the bottom.

"Why, you, of course!" she answered mischievously. "This was all your idea, after all."

"Remind me to keep my ideas to myself in future," Anders muttered to himself, taking up his torch.

Nathaniel waited for a few minutes before leaving his cell, cautiously venturing toward the basement entrance. He peered down but could see nothing but blackness. He sat on the floor with his legs dangling over the entrance, frowning at the torch that lay next to him.

He'd been extremely disconcerted by Caroline's unexpected appearance earlier on, but he was damned if he'd let her see that. What really disturbed him, however, was the feeling of nausea and panic he'd experienced when she went down into the basement. He knew _he_ could navigate the tunnels with his eyes closed, but it had taken him years to familiarise himself with them, and he hadn't had darkspawn to contend with.

He pondered her earlier words. _I waited six years for you… you never wrote to me._

He shook his head, astonished by her lies. Why couldn't she just admit that she'd changed her mind about him? His mother and sister had left him, his father and brother had never had time for him. Why should Caroline be any different? She was just like everyone else. Why should _he_ care if she was in the basement, getting herself lost?

_He deserved every twist of my knife as I plunged it through his neck!_

"Damn her!" he cursed, and scrambled to his feet. "Good luck down there," he sneered into the dark pit, and returned to his cell, firmly closing the door.

~0~O~0~

After almost an hour's travel through the tunnels, the three Wardens had found the group of darkspawn, guided to its location by Caroline's finely-tuned Warden sense. The group had proved little trouble to them and, after Oghren's and Anders' confident showing, Caroline felt certain they would make fine Wardens.

Now they had a problem. Caroline knew that they needed to head in a vaguely easterly direction to return to the keep but, with nothing to guide her to an exact location, and – although she had tried to keep 'east' in her head – during the fight with the darkspawn she had lost concentration, and was now uncertain exactly which way east was. The only thing she _was_ certain of was that it lay to her right somewhere but, if east lay to her right, then so did south and west.

On top of that, she had sensed another group of darkspawn, moving away from them in a north-westerly direction. At least she _thought _it was north-west. The darkspawn would have to be taken care of first, but she knew eventually she'd have to admit to Oghren and Anders that they were lost.

Anders had re-lit their torches a few times, but once the tallow had completely burned off, there would be nothing left to burn and, although Anders could provide light, and heat, with his staff, he had only brought a few lyrium potions with him, and after they'd gone? They'd have to scrabble around blindly in the dark, and Anders couldn't conjure up food.

Then she thought of Nathaniel. She'd left him a sitting duck up there in the dungeon because of her foolish belief that he'd help them. _Is this how the Howes and the Couslands are going to end? _She wondered. How ironic it was that there had been a survivor from each family, and they both may die on the same night, in the place that had once been Nathaniel's home, but was now hers.

"This way," she said chirpily, swallowing down her fear and doubt as she led Anders and Oghren down another passage heading north-west, or so she believed.

"You _do _know the way back, don't you?" Oghren asked.

"Of course," she answered with feigned confidence. "We just make our way back east." She pointed vaguely behind them.

"That's not east," Anders argued. "That's _south_. I've been keeping track of our direction. At least… I _think _it's south."

"You're both wrong," Oghren grunted, folding his arms. "That's south-west. We're heading east _now_. We'll meet those freaks on our way back to the dungeon."

"Are you certain, Oghren?" Caroline asked with a semitone of panic in her voice.

"Uh-huh," he replied, tapping the side of his head. "Stone-sense. Got us out of Caridin's Cross, didn't it?"

"But they're moving _away_ from us," she said quickly. "That means… that means they're heading towards the keep – the dungeon!" Her heart fluttered in her chest with the realisation that Nathaniel's death may be imminent.

"How far away are they?" asked Anders as the three of them quickened their pace.

"About three hundred metres, dead ahead," she answered, "but we may not be able to take a direct route to them. If we _are _heading east, I remember a junction not long after we came down here. I'm not sure which way to go when we reach it."

Oghren cursed under his breath as his torch went out for the third time. Anders tried without success to re-light it. "There's no fuel left on it to burn," he told them.

"I think mine's about to go again," Caroline said, blowing on the flame. Anders's torch had burned out long before.

Anders examined the torch and groaned. "You might as well leave it, Commander. That'll go out anytime. I'll make a bit of light with my staff, but I'll need to use it for other things when we meet the darkspawn – we'll be fighting them in the dark."

"We _have_ to be better prepared than this, next time!" Caroline said, angrily throwing her guttering torch to the ground. "No… _I _need to be better prepared. This is _my_ fault."

"You're doing your best, Commander," Anders reassured her. "Blaming yourself isn't going to help."

Caroline smiled thinly at him and patted his arm in gratitude.

"Mind you," he added, "if we die down here and there _isn't _a next time, I'll come and find you in the Fade, and mark my words, there'll be some blaming going on _then_, I can tell you!"

"And I won't argue with you!" she laughed along with him before her expression turned serious. "Let's get a move on," she said, remembering Nathaniel.

Before long, they came to the junction that Caroline had mentioned. Although she was relieved that they were definitely heading east, she knew that a wrong turn here could result in Nathaniel's – and perhaps some of the Keep's personnel's – deaths, as the darkspawn were _still _heading away from them, but, for the moment, they were still on basement level.

"Any ideas, Oghren?" she asked the dwarf, hoping his stone-sense could help determine the right direction for them to take.

Oghren walked forward, removed a gauntlet, and touched the stone wall, running his bare hand along its surface by the eldritch light of Anders's staff. He grunted to himself doubtfully and shook his head. "Can't say for certain, Commander. Both ways lead east, but for some reason, right seems the best way to go."

"Right it is, then," said Caroline.

"Wrong, dwarf," said a rasping voice from behind them. They all turned in the direction of the light coming up a tunnel ahead.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Caroline demanded as Nathaniel appeared from around a bend, carrying a freshly-lit torch.

"I've been following you," he answered. "You need to go left, here. A right turn leads to the crypt and, trust me, you don't want to go down there. Older things than darkspawn lurk in these passages, you know," he said darkly.

"How do we know he's telling the truth?" Anders asked loudly. "He could be leading us into a trap!"

"Yes, I'd like to know how you got behind us!" Caroline agreed. She was relieved to see Nathaniel wasn't in immediate danger, but his earlier words to her had bitten deeply, and she was uncertain who this man really was – he certainly wasn't the love-struck, starry-eyed boy she remembered.

Nathaniel tutted and rolled his eyes. "I've passed you all several times, but you didn't see me. I also passed the darkspawn – they're up ahead, and they're cornered. If you want to take care of them, you'd better do it now before they head up through the opening to the dungeon."

"How did we not see you with your torch, then?" Anders asked sceptically.

"I've only just lit it, you moron," Nathaniel sniped.

Anders shook his head vigorously. "No – I don't trust him. Why does he suddenly want to help us after more or less telling us to piss off before?"

"Do what you like," Nathaniel said dismissively. "I'm heading back to the dungeon, and as I have the only torch, you'd be advised to follow me, but suit yourselves," he added as he took the left-hand tunnel. "_And_ I'm going to replace the grate," he called out. "I'm not fighting them on my own – I don't have a weapon, and there are nine of them, one of which was huge."

"Yes, it's an ogre. It looks like we don't have much choice," Caroline conceded, and reluctantly followed him. Oghren and Anders exchanged a sour look, and gripped their weapons tightly as they went after their Commander.

"Don't turn your back on _him_," Oghren warned Anders.

"Way ahead of you there, beardy," the mage replied.

It soon became apparent that Nathaniel had been telling the truth. As they neared another bend, Caroline held her hand up for them to stop and pointed to the left. "They're down there," she whispered, "and they're heading this way – they've sensed me."

"Well then, let's give them a welcoming party!" Oghren cried, and charged down to meet them, quickly followed by Anders, guided by the light of his staff.

"Don't you have any control over your subordinates?" Nathaniel asked Caroline in dismay. "It would have been better to ambush them – your two idiot Wardens are going to fight them in the dark!"

"Then shut up and bring the torch," she snapped as an explosion sounded and a fireball lit up the tunnel, allowing Caroline to navigate safely for a few seconds.

"The saviours of Amaranthine," Nathaniel remarked derisively, shaking his head as he followed at a distance. Caroline stopped, turned around and charged up to him.

"Give me that!" she ordered, snatching the torch from him. "If you want to glower and sulk in the dark, be my guest! I'm going to make myself useful!" She turned and started running toward the sound of clashing metal.

Nathaniel let out a deep sigh and headed after her. He had no trouble navigating the tunnel; he knew the basement well, and his years of training in stealth and covert manoeuvres had heightened his senses when in a poorly-lit environment.

He rounded another bend and was astonished by the sight that met him. The dwarf was engaging half a dozen hurlocks by himself, and actually appeared to be goading them by shouting insults and whistling at them, while the mage and Caroline tackled the ogre. He watched in awe as she skipped around the monster, taking occasional stabs at its legs with her daggers to distract it, allowing Anders to cast spells upon it. She moved with the grace and finesse of a dancer, and Nathaniel was suddenly taken back to a time when he would watch her sparring with her brother Fergus's squire, Ser Gilmore, at Highever.

As he reminisced, he failed to notice two hurlocks that had broken free from Oghren and, without warning, he was struck on the head, and found himself on the ground, dazed and disorientated in the darkness.

"Nathaniel!" he heard Caroline cry out, and she tossed one of her daggers over to him. Scrambling to his feet, he ran to retrieve it, only to be knocked to the ground again as one of the hurlocks tackled him. Temporarily winded, he grabbed the dagger and slashed wildly, finally sinking it into the hurlock's ribcage. This only seemed to enrage the creature, however, and it clasped its claws around Nathaniel's neck and squeezed hard.

"Bastard!" Nathaniel croaked and, bringing the dagger up, drove it forcefully into the creature's windpipe, releasing a torrent of black, glutinous liquid onto Nathaniel's face. He gasped as the creature's grip around his throat tightened, and spluttered as the foul-tasting liquid entered his mouth. Blinded, he frantically tried to wipe the liquid from his eyes and, as he opened them, he felt the hurlock's grip loosen, its body sliding to the ground, minus its head. Although his vision was still blurred, Nathaniel made out a small, squat figure running away from him towards the ogre, a glinting battle-axe in his hand.

With Oghren's help, the ogre was eventually felled, and the three Wardens caught their breath for a few seconds before making their way to the lit torch, which lay on the ground. They found Nathaniel next to it, leaning heavily against a wall, panting and clutching at his neck.

"Are you injured?" Anders asked cautiously, expecting a scathing retort. When none came, he picked up the torch and approached Nathaniel.

"Commander!" Anders shouted. "He's covered in darkspawn blood!"

Caroline ran up to them and grabbed Nathaniel's face, which stuck to her hands. "Did you swallow any?" she asked him frantically. "Nathaniel! Answer me!"

Nathaniel nodded and started retching, clutching his belly.

"I'll make him vomit," said Anders, holding his right hand up to Nathaniel's face, casting a _disorient _spell on him.

"What… what are you…" Nathaniel slurred, squeezing his eyes shut as his head began to swim. He then bent over and was violently sick up the wall.

"Do it again, to be on the safe side," Caroline instructed Anders.

"Don't you dare!" Nathaniel gasped as he felt the nauseating and dizzying effect of Anders's spell once more. He grimaced and made a harsh exclamation as the last of his stomach's contents spilled out of his mouth onto the ground.

"I think that should do it, Commander," Anders announced, and stepped closer to the drooling, panting Nathaniel, undeterred by the rogue's glower. "How do you feel?" he asked.

Nathaniel answered with a blistering right-hook to Anders's nose, sending the hapless mage sprawling to the ground.

"Hey!" Oghren growled, advancing forward.

"You ungrateful fucker!" Anders yelled, wincing as he touched his bleeding nose. "I was trying to save your life!"

Nathaniel's head was forced back against the wall as Caroline's dagger pressed firmly against his throat. "You _ever _touch him again, and I won't hesitate," she threatened. Nathaniel gulped and closed his eyes.

She moved away and held out her hand to Anders. "I can manage, Commander," he muttered, pushing himself up onto his feet. He placed his hand over his face and a pale light surrounded him for a few seconds as he healed himself.

"Which way?" Caroline demanded of Nathaniel.

"The-the left tunnel," he stammered, breathing rapidly, bracing himself against the wall with one hand. "I-I feel… what… what…?"

Nathaniel's world undulated and shifted around him, and he felt insubstantial fingers snake into his head and claw down the sides of his skull. He vomited corrupt blackness onto his tunic and fell to his knees, reaching and grabbing desperately at something in front of him the others could not perceive, and finally collapsed onto his side, trembling.

"What's wrong with him, Anders?" Caroline asked wildly, falling to her own knees as she arrived at his side, her eyes wide with fear as she already suspected the answer.

Anders picked up the torch and crouched down next to them. In the dim light, the foul black egestion was already drying around Nathaniel's mouth, and his skin seemed to have taken on a translucent quality, the veins running beneath it clearly visible. "No, please," Caroline whispered, a sob in her throat.

"Nathaniel! Open your eyes!" Anders shouted. Howe complied, although with great difficulty; as his eyes flickered open, two dull, lifeless orbs stared back at the Wardens.

"Ancestors' tits!" Oghren growled. "What the hell is wrong with him?" Anders shook his head slowly, at a complete loss. He'd never seen anything like this in all his years as a healer.

Caroline leapt to her feet, taking a few halting steps backwards. "Anders," she said quietly, "you're the fastest runner. Take the left tunnel, and send some strong men down here with a stretcher and some rope."

"Right-right, I'll go now!" Anders said quickly, handing the torch over to Caroline.

"And then go and find Varel," she instructed him. "He'll need help preparing."

"Preparing what?" Anders asked.

"Nathaniel needs to be put through the Joining immediately," she answered. "It's the only thing now that will save his life."

"What, you mean he'll be a Grey Warden?" Anders exclaimed, his disapproval obvious.

"Anders, please hurry!" she shouted.

"Yes… yes," he mumbled, and broke into a sprint up the tunnel.


	4. Epiphany

**_Thank you again to everyone for your reviews, alerts and favourites. Windyshoes - I tried to reply to your review but your PM feature was blocked. So thank you!_  
**

**__**~o~O~o~

Following an impressive display of co-ordination and teamwork from the keep's staff, the barely-conscious Nathaniel was brought up from the basement using rope and with the help of a couple of burly soldiers, who rolled him onto the stretcher and quickly transported him to the keep, where Anders and Varel were waiting. As they entered, Anders departed to check on the men who had had contact with Nathaniel, to ensure that none of them had also been tainted.

Varel rushed forward as the stretcher was brought into the ante-room off the main hall, alarmed by Nathaniel's appearance. "Be careful!" he urged as the soldiers lowered the stretcher to the floor. Nathaniel groaned and mumbled something incomprehensible.

"He's delirious," Caroline explained. "He's been asking for his mother."

"C-Carrie? Is that you?" Nathaniel called out desperately, his voice fearful as he thrashed around on the stretcher. "What are you doing here? Where are we? Is Mother here?"

Caroline knelt next to him and swallowed down the lump in her throat. "I'm here, Nate," she answered, her hand hovering over him, but stopping just short of touching him.

"Mother? Where's Mother?" he pleaded, blindly clutching at her arm.

"She's not here at the moment," she answered as a tear slid down her cheek.

His head turned in the direction of her voice and he slowly opened his eyes, which were completely covered in an opaque, grey film. Varel cursed under his breath and moved to a table behind him, picking up a silverite goblet. "There's no time to lose, Commander," he said gravely. "I think we can dispense with the usual words spoken before the Joining. Please, clear the room!" he instructed the soldiers, thanking them as they left, the last one closing the door behind him.

"I-I can hear you, but I can't see you," Nathaniel said, his voice breaking. "What's happening to me?"

"I'm right here," she replied, taking one of his hands as she struggled to keep her own voice steady. "I'm not going anywhere."

Nathaniel weakly raised his other hand and moved it toward Caroline's face and then, betrayed by his enfeeblement, his arm fell impotently onto his chest, and his eyes closed.

Varel squatted next to Nathaniel and, with Caroline's help, sat him up, with Caroline sitting behind him for support. "Get ready for him to struggle, Commander," he advised. "Nathaniel!" he bellowed, startling the young archer into semi-consciousness. "Open your mouth!" he commanded.

"Who?" Nathaniel replied listlessly upon hearing the strangely familiar voice.

Varel seized his opportunity as soon as Nathaniel's mouth opened, and forced it further open with one hand, while tipping the contents of the goblet into Nathaniel's mouth.

"Seneschal!" Caroline exclaimed, shocked by his roughness.

"I cannot be gentle, Commander," Varel explained. "He's going to fight us and try to spit it out. We can't delay."

As Varel predicted, Nathaniel immediately began struggling and kicking out his legs. Caroline held his arms, while Varel forced Nathaniel's jaw shut and pinched his nose. Nathaniel's legs began to thrash wildly and he made several muffled protests. "Swallow it, Nathaniel!" Varel cried.

Noticing the bob of Nathaniel's trachea, Varel immediately released him. Nathaniel sprayed the remainder of the contents of his mouth, narrowly missing Varel's face, and slumped, unconscious, against Caroline, who gently lowered him to the floor.

"I'm so sorry, Nathaniel," Varel said thickly with sorrow in his eyes. "It had to be done."

Caroline looked at Varel curiously; she knew him as a stoic, unflappable and dignified man, and the emotion in his voice surprised her. "He means a lot to you, doesn't he?" she asked softly.

Varel glanced at her, and then looked back at Nathaniel. "He was once like a son to me, Commander," he confessed in a whisper. "When I worked for his father he would often confide in me. Well – that _was_ a long time ago. I doubt the sentiment is reciprocated now."

Before she could ask Varel to elaborate, Nathaniel started trembling violently as his body was racked with convulsions. Caroline and Varel held him down gently but firmly. "This is it," Varel said heavily. "Maker help him."

After a few minutes, Nathaniel stilled, and Varel watched him carefully. "Come on," he urged. Caroline held her breath and her eyes darted between the two men. "Come on! Breathe!" Varel implored.

"Maker be praised!" Caroline exclaimed as Nathaniel's chest finally rose. She sat on the floor and drew her knees up to her chest, covering her face with her hands, and Varel stood before turning away from her. They remained silent for several minutes, keeping their thoughts to themselves, until a knock came at the door. Varel walked over and opened it.

"Begging your pardon, Seneschal," said one of the keep's soldiers, "but we've come across some correspondence of Arl Howe's that the commander might want to take a look at."

"Commander?" Varel asked. Caroline clambered to her feet and approached the door.

"Very well, I'll take a look," she said wearily.

"I'll stay with him for now, Commander," Varel volunteered.

"Are you sure? You've hinted that he might not be happy to see you."

Varel shook his head. "None of that matters now, Commander, now I know he's safe."

"All right. Thank you," she said, squeezing his arm. "I'll be in my office. Will you bring him to me when he wakes, please?"

"Of course, Commander," he answered.

"I'm going to send Anders in to clean up his face and heal those wounds," she announced. "I doubt he'd let Anders do it while he's conscious."

"Very good," Varel replied. "I'll see you shortly."

Caroline nodded and followed the soldier down the corridor. Varel closed the door and sat on a small bench next to where Nathaniel lay, wondering how the young Howe would react to him when he awoke.

~0~O~0~

_30 Firstfall, 9:29_

_My lord Howe,_

_Some of the men are not pleased with your plan. They will incite others against you. For the plan to succeed, our forces must be united. If word gets out, if even one of them informs Cousland, it will be your head on a plate. I say this with all due respect, ser._

_Your captain,_

_Lowan_

For the past two years, Caroline had wondered if what had happened at Highever had all been a terrible misunderstanding. Had Howe's men been given the wrong orders? _Were _they Howe's men, or were they intruders masquerading as such to set Howe up and incite war between the two families?

She had simply never allowed herself to acknowledge that Rendon Howe – as much of a lowlife as he was – would betray her father, and her family, in such a brutal and final way. She had never been able to comprehend that the man who had chatted amiably with her in the great hall that morning – along with her father and her predecessor, Duncan – had been able to look her in the eye and smile at her while planning her destruction. Even when she had confronted him, deep in the bowels of the Arl of Denerim's estate, he had refused to admit to his complicity in her family's slaughter, but instead had only cruelly hinted at it.

Here in her hands, however, she held irrefutable proof that Howe's plan had indeed been pre-meditated, and she wasn't entirely sure how to feel about that. Although she had known, deep down, that it had been a possibility, the full extent of Howe's depravity now beset her from all sides and gripped her, refusing to let go. She stared, unblinking, at the letter, not really seeing it at all, a solitary tear meandering its way down her cheek.

There were several more letters from Lowan to Arl Howe, all dated between Kingsway 9:29 and Guardian 9:30 – spanning almost six months. Lowan's protestations and disgust had become more strident with each and every letter, until they stopped – the last one was dated 11 Guardian, 9:30 – a week before the 17th.

17 Guardian, 9:30: the day the illustrious and noble Cousland house fell. There would be no more Couslands, now – her brother Fergus, after losing his beloved wife and son to Howe's men, had vowed never to remarry and, as a Grey Warden, Caroline knew that she would never bear children. Howe had done so much more than take her family – he had also taken her life, or her life as she had thought it would be; her plans, her dreams and her hopes had all been chewed, spat out and crushed underfoot with every thrust of his men's swords.

"Commander?" Varel asked softly, peering around her office door. "I knocked, but you didn't answer."

"Sorry, Varel, I didn't hear you," she said. "Come in."

Varel entered and stood just to the side of the door, looking down the corridor. "He's coming," he announced.

She remained seated and watched the doorway, involuntarily tensing and wondering if Nathaniel would remember what he'd said to her during his delirious state.

He walked in, tall, proud and defiant – patently ignoring Varel – and stood directly in front of Caroline's desk, folding his hands behind his back and fixing her with a supercilious look. Anders had done a fine job; not only had Nathaniel's injuries been healed, leaving only a few bruises on his face, but he had been cleaned up and changed into fresh civilian clothing, albeit a hideous orange and black tunic and slacks that did not suit him at all. His long, black hair had been unbraided and combed, and it tumbled down his chest and back, twisting into loose waves at the ends.

Nathaniel squinted a little in the light of Caroline's office – she had a large window in there and, after four days spent in near-blackness, his eyes were still adjusting to daylight. As he stood in the bright light of the window, Caroline saw him – really saw him – for the first time in eight years. He had not aged well; deep worry and frown lines were carved into his forehead and the bridge of his nose, and several scars defaced his cheeks and neck – a particularly large, nasty one ran from his left eye to his mouth, obviously the legacy of a sharp blade.

His skin was weather-beaten, dry and inflamed, and dark shadows sat beneath his eyes. He looked much older than his twenty-four years. Nathaniel had never been classically handsome but, at least when he was a teenager, he carried an aura of innocence and a sparkle of enthusiasm and fierce intelligence in his silver eyes. Now, as he regarded her coldly, his face told an altogether different tale: one of bitterness, anger and loneliness from his past, and a mulish refusal to acknowledge his fear and uncertainty over his future.

As she watched him, his features seemed to shift slightly. She blinked, blaming an errant ray of sun that had fallen across her eyes but, as she looked at him again, there could be no mistake: before her very eyes, his chin receded, his eyes moved closer together and darkened, and his nose grew larger and even more crooked. His long hair retracted into his scalp and a short, grey style took its place. She looked away and pretended to busy herself with some papers; Varel, uncomfortable with the protracted and charged silence, cleared his throat.

"I'm a Grey Warden, then," Nathaniel said in a hoarse whisper, the after-effects of being choked by the hurlock still apparent. "Well, well, how ironic. What's the first order of business, then, Commander? What exactly do you Grey Wardens _do_? Should I go out and murder someone's father, perhaps?"

"No," Caroline answered without looking at him, refusing to be drawn into another mud-slinging match. "We kill darkspawn. We're going back down into the basement later today with a dwarven smith. Apparently there are some ancient fortifications down there which-"

"Do _I _get any say in this?" he interrupted. "I never _asked_ to be a Grey Warden."

"The Joining saved your life," she replied, still not meeting his gaze and shuffling papers, irritation creeping into her voice. "You could at least show a little gratitude for that."

Nathaniel laughed; a humourless, rancorous crackle that didn't trouble his eyes to crease nor his mouth to upturn. "Thanks," he spat with cutting vitriol. "May I go, now?"

"No, I haven't finished with you yet."

Nathaniel picked up the chair that sat on his side of Caroline's desk, moved it over to the window and slumped down onto it, glowering at Caroline. "Well?"

"You've been assigned quarters on the first floor, the third room to the left of the staircase," she informed him. "I suggest you get some rest. We'll be departing for the Deep Roads after supper."

"Well, thank you kindly for assigning _me _quarters in my own_ home_," he replied tartly.

Caroline finally met his eyes, and was relieved to see that he now looked like Nathaniel again. "Vigil's Keep was granted to the Wardens by King Alistair," she reminded him.

"Something else he _stole_ from me, then," he said in a caustic tone that made Caroline's stomach tighten: had she detected something else in those words, or was she imagining things?

"I never wanted to live here," she protested. "Everywhere I turn there's a portrait of your father, or something to remind me of him. I suppose we'll all have to make the best of it."

"Why don't you go back to Highever, then, if you hate this place so much?" he snarled, suddenly enraged by the mention of his father. "There must be plenty of room there, now."

Caroline slowly rose to her feet and stared at him, aghast, and a red-faced Varel stepped forward. "Nathaniel, you've gone too far!" he barked.

"Don't worry, I'm leaving for my _quarters_," he sniped, rising to his feet and casting Varel a hateful look as he reached the door.

"What _happened_ to you?" Caroline asked quietly as Nathaniel opened the door.

"What?" he snapped, turning back to face her.

"What in Thedas happened to turn you into such a… monster?"

Nathaniel's face dropped and, for a second, doubt flickered in his eyes. He then turned away, opened the door and exited, not bothering to close it.

~0~O~0~

Vigil's Keep, 9:32

Nathaniel sighed quietly, shame burning his face as he snapped out of his reverie, finding himself sitting in the Great Hall, staring at Caroline's office door. She could have had him horse-whipped for his comment about Highever, and he would have deserved it, too, but she had kept her dignity and grace and had, in a way, attempted to reach out to him. It was only recently he'd been able to see that, though.

He'd been a Warden for almost eight months, now and, to his great surprise, he found he'd grown to like it, even to feel proud of it. The first few weeks had been difficult, to say the least – and there had been no one but him to blame for that. He'd rejected any attempts at friendship from the others, and had done his best to be a thorn in the commander and seneschal's sides. Caroline and Varel, apart from one or two exceptions, had on the whole been patient with him; Anders and Oghren, however, had been openly hostile and had not flinched from telling him exactly what they thought of him. Not that he could blame them for that, he reflected wryly.

Times had changed, however; he now counted the dwarf and the mage among his friends, and had made a point of apologising to Anders for striking him after he'd tried to save his life, even though that apology came three months after the event. Anders, as was his way, had laughed it off and informed Nathaniel that he punched like a girl, and that he'd only fallen to the ground to spare Nathaniel's pride. Nathaniel had in turn congratulated Anders on a _very _convincing display of falling to the ground and whinging – like a girl.

He'd given Caroline the hardest time of all, and she'd deserved it the least. She'd shown him nothing but patience, kindness and understanding since they'd been reunited which, initially, he had bitterly rejected and lashed out against.

The events that had led to him and Caroline gradually repairing their destroyed friendship had all occurred in a short space of time. To his utter delight and surprise, his old friend Samuel had returned to the keep after a leave of absence to visit family at Denerim's alienage, where he and many others had helped to rebuild it after the Blight. Nathaniel had simply assumed that Samuel had been lost during the darkspawn attack, and when he learned that his friend had returned home, Nathaniel had spent an entire day in the gardens with him, catching up and helping the aging elf with his duties. Samuel had informed him that his sister, Delilah – who Nathaniel had lost touch with – was living under his very nose in Amaranthine, and had married a local merchant.

Nathaniel knew that Caroline had planned another trip into the Deep Roads that day, as, two months after he had been made a Warden, the last of the cave-ins had been cleared, and steps were being taken to seal off the tunnels beneath the keep for good. Expecting her to refuse, he asked her if he could go to Amaranthine to visit his sister anyway, and had been taken aback when Caroline had told him to send Delilah her love.

While he was gone, Caroline, Anders and Oghren had ventured into the crypt beneath the keep and, after a protracted fight against various undead creatures, had found various keepsakes and valuables belonging to the Howe family – including a beautiful but aged bow that had been snapped in half. Upon closer inspection, Caroline found the Howe crest on its underside, and took it to one of the Dalish archers at the keep, asking if it could be repaired. The tattooed elf's face had lit up and he told Caroline that mending such an exquisite bow would be a privilege, and that he would have it ready in a week or so.

A very quiet and sombre Nathaniel had returned from Amaranthine later that day, and had retired to his room immediately. Anders, never one to mince words or to shy away from a fight, had knocked on his door and asked him why he'd taken to skulking in his room again, like he had when he'd first been made a Warden. To his surprise, Nathaniel had not bitten his head off, nor had he told him to mind his own business as Anders had expected, but instead had told the mage – very politely – that he wished to spend some time alone, and had apologised for his rudeness.

Disarmed and somewhat confused, Anders had informed Caroline of Nathaniel's strange behaviour, and she'd explained that he'd been to visit his sister, and that perhaps some unpleasant memories had been stirred up for both of them. Little did she realise that Delilah had in fact informed Nathaniel of their Father's evildoing during the Blight, and was of the opinion that he had deserved his fate.

After a few days of Nathaniel keeping to himself and barely speaking to anyone, Caroline began to become concerned, and had asked him what was wrong.

"Nothing," he'd replied unconvincingly.

"Something's obviously troubling you," she'd said cautiously, afraid of pressing him too hard. "Was Delilah well?"

Nathaniel's head had snapped up at the mention of his sister, and for a second, an excited gleam appeared in his eyes; he then cast them to the floor. "Actually, she's expecting," he'd said quietly. "You know – a baby."

"Really?" Caroline had asked excitedly. "That's wonderful, Nate – you'll be an uncle!"

"Wonderful?" he'd answered doubtfully. "What kind of life do you think that child will have, being born of a Howe?"

"What do you mean?"

He'd sighed and closed his eyes. "I-I don't want to discuss this…" he'd said, turning away from her.

"Nate!" she'd called.

"…at the moment," he'd finished, before continuing on his way.

That evening, he'd gone down for supper and, although he'd sat on his own and hadn't uttered a word to anyone, Varel and Caroline had discussed what Nathaniel had said to her, and they both agreed to give him some space.

Nathaniel had participated in all of the Wardens' forays into Amaranthine and the surrounding areas during that time, had followed orders and had despatched darkspawn with deadly precision, but at all times remained taciturn and unwilling to engage in conversation, only speaking when he had to, and then only with a brief word or nod. Caroline had requested of Anders and Oghren that they desist with their barracking of Nathaniel, at least until she'd worked out what was troubling him, and was relieved that they'd agreed, albeit reluctantly.

The Dalish archer at the Keep had been true to his word, and had repaired the Howe bow in little over a week. He called Caroline over to his post one morning, and had presented her with the aged but beautifully-crafted recurve bow, and had jokingly held onto it as she'd tried to pull it away from him. She'd been delighted with his work, and had doubled his ale ration for a month as a reward as, at the time, most of the money from the arling had gone into the restoration of the keep.

Caroline had taken the bow to Varel to ask his advice.

"Is that the bow you found in the crypt?" he'd asked, to which she had nodded.

"I was thinking of giving it to Nathaniel, but…"

"But what, Commander?"

"Well, this bow has the Howe crest stamped onto it, and something tells me he's not too proud of his family name at the moment."

Varel took it from her and examined it. "I remember this bow," he said quietly, "and I remember how it got broken, as well." Caroline waited for Varel to continue, noticing the grim line of his mouth. "That bastard," he began.

"Are you talking about Howe?" she asked, referring to Rendon Howe; she and Varel never called the former arl by his first name, as they could not bring themselves to say it. Varel nodded in reply to her question.

"This belonged to Padric Howe, Nathaniel's grandfather," he explained.

"_Padric _Howe?" she'd asked in confusion. "But I thought Howe's father was Tarleton Howe?"

"He was," Varel elaborated, "but after Tarleton was hanged for treason, Nathaniel's grandmother remarried. Howe never accepted him, and tried to get out of seeing them when they visited. Nathaniel took a shine to him, though, as he was an archer, just as Nathaniel hoped to be."

Caroline nodded and took the bow from Varel, taking a closer look at it. "How was it broken?" she asked.

Varel sighed and shook his head. "When Nathaniel was in his early teens, Padric disappeared – I don't know why, and it was never discussed," he said with a shrug. "He'd left that bow at the keep for Nathaniel to practise with; he'd become quite a proficient archer by then, but without his father's knowledge."

"Howe disapproved of him being an archer?" she asked.

"Yes. He disapproved of pretty much everything Nathaniel did – he was all for Thomas," he answered. "Well, Howe eventually discovered that Captain Lowan and a few others had been teaching Nathaniel archery in secret, and he stormed across the training field one day, snatched the bow off him and snapped it across his knee. Nathaniel got his daily bollocking from Howe and Lowan spent a week in the dungeon."

"What?" she exclaimed in horror.

Varel snorted. "Believe me, Commander, that was Howe on a _good_ day." His eyes fell to the desk and he seemed lost in thought for a few moments. "Anyway, I think that Nathaniel would appreciate having that bow back," he opined. "He was quite fond of Padric."

Caroline nodded. "All right," she agreed. "Can I have the office to myself for a while?"

"You don't need to ask my permission, Commander," he chuckled. "I'll go and stretch my legs. How long do you need?"

"I can't see him giving me a tearful thank-you speech or anything," she said wryly. "Half an hour, at the most?"

Varel nodded once. "In that case, I'll go and have a quick spar," he declared, and exited the office with a small bow.

She examined the bow once more, marvelling at its craftsmanship, and placed it reverently on the desk before heading outside to where she knew she'd find him.

Sure enough, he was alone on the archery range, sitting cross-legged on the ground, re-stringing his bow. He looked up warily as she approached before turning his attention back to his task.

"Yes, Commander?" he asked quietly without looking up.

"You don't need to call me 'Commander,' you know," she said in an exasperated tone.

"I think it's appropriate," he answered, aiming the bow away from her and pulling back on the string to test its strength.

She sighed and watched him for a moment, her gaze settling on his luscious black hair, which any woman would kill to have. The last time she'd seen him before he left for the Free Marches, his hair had been closely cropped and she simply couldn't get used to seeing him with long, flowing locks, although that wasn't to say she disliked his new style.

"Did you want me for something?" he asked, looking up at her.

"Hmm?" she mumbled.

"You were staring at me."

"Oh! I'm sorry – I didn't mean to. I was waiting for you to finish what you were doing. Uh, may I see you in the office?"

"What's wrong with here?" he asked, his eyes narrowing a little, but there was no hostility in his voice.

"Well, I have something for you," she said, walking away. "It's in the office."

He watched her leave and frowned heavily, trying to think what she would possibly give him. A knife in the back, perhaps?

He closed his eyes and sighed, a heavy feeling settling over him. He'd been suspicious of other people's motives for so long, it had begun to wear him down. He thought back to a happier time, as a youngster, when his mother was still alive and he'd felt part of a family… loved. Nathaniel had a gentle, compassionate and idealistic side to him – which these days was all but lost – which he'd inherited from his mother.

His bitter and jaded view of the world and everyone in it? His loneliness, longing and regret? The deeply entrenched, biting shame that constantly fed off him, slowly sucking the life out of him? They had come from someone else entirely.

Lately, he'd felt some of the old emotions – the ones he hadn't felt since his mother's passing – emerge, and he had to admit that they scared him. He'd been alone for so long that he wore his loneliness like a suit of armour; it had always protected him and had never let him down, like so many people had during his life.

And he wasn't sure whether he was ready to remove that armour yet, to leave himself completely vulnerable. Armour would deflect a knife in the back, after all.

He wearily pushed himself up and trudged over to the main keep, surprised by the brief flutter of excitement in his belly. He walked up the steps, through the huge halls that led to the offices and anterooms, finally arriving outside her open door. She was standing in front of the desk with her hands behind her back.

"Come in!" she encouraged.

He slowly entered the office, glancing around as he stepped nearer to her.

"I don't have the place booby-trapped, you know," she said with a half-smile.

"So I see," he replied evenly, standing upright with his hands folded over his groin, his legs slightly apart. "I _have _checked."

_Was that a joke? _She wondered, scanning his impassive features for a hint; a creasing around the eyes, a quirk of the mouth, an upturned eyebrow?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

"Well," she said, clearing her throat. "While you were visiting Delilah," she began, and his eyes plummeted to the floor. "We ventured into the crypt."

He gawked at her for a second and then, gathering himself, the mask of indifference settled over his face once again. "What did you find down there?" he asked.

"Oh, several undead, reanimated Avvar skeletons, that kind of thing," she replied casually, noticing a frown creep onto his brow. "And this," she said, reaching behind her and producing the bow, which she held out to him.

Nathaniel's frown deepened, and his eyes darted between the bow and Caroline's face several times.

She took a step nearer to him. "It's for you."

His eyes fixed upon hers, and he gingerly took the bow off her, almost as though he expected it to explode at any moment. He finally looked down at it and gently stroked along its length. "This has been repaired," he observed quietly.

"Yes, Emrys repaired it for you. I think he did a fine job."

"You… _told_ him to fix it?" he asked, and she nodded. "Why?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Because it was broken."

"But… why would you give it to me?" he asked, still running his fingers along the bow.

"It belongs to you, doesn't it?" she asked leadingly, hoping to prompt him to open up a little.

He shook his head. "Actually, it was…" he paused and took a deep breath. "Yes, Emrys did a fine job," he agreed. "Thank you." And, with that, he turned and left the office without another word.

Although that was pretty much the reaction she'd expected, Caroline could not help feeling disappointed. He was still so closed, so insular; at one time they'd told each other almost everything, although he had never once spoken about his father to her. She had hoped that seeing the bow again might have encouraged him to talk about his family, or himself, or, well, anything. If anybody needed to talk to someone, it was Nathaniel, and Caroline had optimistically hoped that that someone could be her.

She closed the door with a sigh, feeling somewhat deflated.

Later that day, after supper and, after first ensuring that Varel would not be using his office, Nathaniel approached Anders, Oghren and Caroline separately and asked them to meet him in the office, promising not to take up too much of their time.

Caroline made her way there out of concern; Anders and Oghren, out of morbid curiosity. Nathaniel waited patiently as they arrived, and closed the door after Anders, who had arrived last.

Nathaniel invited them all to sit down; he stood stiffly and cleared his throat.

"I owe you all an apology," he said quickly, looking at the floor. Anders shot a glance at Caroline, who pretended not to notice. "I, um… I've come to realise that I may have been wrong about a few things," he admitted in a hushed tone. "Well… many things, actually."

He fell silent for a short while as he searched for the right words. The other three Wardens waited for him to speak; Caroline and Oghren sat still with their arms folded, while Anders fidgeted and huffed impatiently.

"I don't expect your friendship, nor do I deserve it," he said finally, "but I will endeavour to be less insufferable than I have been of late. Well, that's all I wanted to say. Thanks for your time."

Noticing that none of them were making a move to leave, he nodded once and left the office, leaving Caroline, Oghren and Anders stunned and speechless.

Naturally, Anders was the one to break the silence. "Well, that's a turn up!" he exclaimed, "Ser _sulky-pants_ wants to be my friend! Is it even _possible _to be friends with someone who looks like he wants you dead every time you open your mouth?"

"That's not just him, Anders. That's everyone," Caroline quipped.

"Ha ha," he said sarcastically. "I mean it, though – he's spent the last couple of months looking down his nose at us, and if he only scowls at me, then I know he's in a good mood. I'm just supposed to forget all that, am I?"

"The kid's got balls, though, to stand in front of all of us and say what he just did," Oghren stated. "He deserves credit for that, at least."

"That's right," Caroline agreed, leaning forward in her chair. "Look – Nathaniel hasn't had it easy. His father was a sociopath; his mother, who he was very close to, died when he was young, and then his father made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with him and sent him abroad against his will. When he finally returned to Ferelden, he discovered that his home had been given over to the Grey Wardens, who he'd learned had been responsible for his father's death."

Anders folded his arms and huffed. "Well, you'd think he'd be _grateful_ for that, if his father was such a bedlamite."

Caroline looked at him sternly. "All right! I'm just saying," he replied, holding his hands up.

"Give him a chance," Caroline pleaded. "He has nothing, no home, no friends. His family name is black, now, thanks to his father. I'm not asking you to be best friends with him – just to, well, not be enemies with him, that's all."

Oghren rose to his feet with a grunt. "Let's see if the boy can hold his liquor," he announced.

"What, you want to get him pissed?" Anders asked in dismay. "What if he turns out to be an aggressive drunk? He'll stick a knife through your eye quicker than you can fart. And that's quick for _you_," he said pointedly to the dwarf.

"I'm a mage," Oghren said in a mockery of Anders's voice. "I walk around in a dress like a fairy. I'm scared of _everything_."

"Scared?" Anders retorted, also rising to his feet and gesturing towards the door. "All right, but _you're _going into his room first. And that's not me being scared, just… practical."

"Practically _terrified_, you mean," Oghren said in response as he left the office.

Anders frowned at him before looking at Caroline. "You coming?" he asked.

"No, I think I'll let you boys have some fun," she replied. "Anders – he's a good person. He's going to be hard work, but I think it'll be worth it."

Anders nodded and sighed. "All right, I'll give him a chance, but only because you asked so nicely," he said with a wink.

"Thanks, Anders," she grinned as he left the office.

~0~O~0~

The following morning, Caroline, Anders and Oghren sat in the dining hall, eating breakfast, and she asked them how last night had gone.

"Well, I'm happy to report that he's not an aggressive drunk," said Anders around a mouthful of toast.

"Oh? Then what sort of drunk _is_ he?" Caroline asked.

"He's a _chatty _one," Anders replied.

"You can say that again!" Oghren agreed. "He was a little leery at first, but after a couple of tankards of Oghren's moonshine, we couldn't get a sodding word in edgeways!"

"_Really_?" Caroline asked in amazement. "What did he talk about?"

Anders and Oghren shared a glance and sniggered.

"What?" she asked sharply.

"Well, you, mostly," said Anders. "It was 'Caroline this, Caroline that.'"

"What sort of things did he say?" she asked anxiously, fearing that Nathaniel had been indiscreet about their _secret meetings _when they were younger.

"Oh, it was nothing inappropriate," Anders said, waggling his eyebrows, "but he just wouldn't shut up about you, that's all. We even managed to get him to smile a couple of times – either that, or he had wind."

"Well, it's understandable," Caroline stated briskly. "After all, he probably knows me better than anyone else here, save Varel."

"Heh, whatever you say," Oghren mumbled, sticking his fork into a sausage.

"Well, it made a pleasant change to hear something else come out of his mouth besides 'yes' 'no' or 'sod off, mage,' anyway," said Anders.

Deciding she was going to ignore them, Caroline looked around the hall for an excuse to change the subject, when she spotted him: he stood at the entrance of the hall, looking around uncertainly. His eyes briefly wandered over to their table, and he quickly looked away, heading for the kitchens.

"Hoy, Nate!" Anders bellowed across the room. Nathaniel stopped in his tracks and appeared to stiffen. "Come and sit with us – there's plenty of grub over here!" Anders invited, and Nathaniel slowly turned around and headed towards them.

"He _hates _me calling him Nate – I found that out last night!" Anders whispered to Caroline. "What?" he asked as she frowned. "I've got to have a _bit _of banter with my _friends_, haven't I?"

Nathaniel arrived at the table and hesitated for a moment before taking a seat. "Morning," he said quietly.

"Morning, _Nate_," Anders said cheekily; Nathaniel pursed his lips and shook his head, scowling at the mage.

"Good morning, Nathaniel," Caroline said with a smile. "It's nice to have you with us." She poured him a mug of tea from the pot and passed it over to him.

Nathaniel nodded. "Thanks," he replied, taking some toast and bacon from the tray on the centre of the table.

~0~O~0~

All of that had happened six months ago, and Nathaniel had come a long way since then. Caroline had been right: he had been hard work, and at times the four Wardens had travelled a bumpy road, but gradually they had become more at ease with him, and he with them. Anders and Oghren still ribbed him mercilessly, but there was no longer any rancour or malice in their words; Nathaniel had even started to answer back with a few choice words of his own. He still found laughter hard to come by, though, and often thought with shame of his father and his actions during the Blight, none more so than the slaughter of the Cousland family.

He had a curious relationship with Caroline, now; although his feelings for her burned as brightly within him as they always had, she did not appear to reciprocate – although she was very friendly and kind to him, she had never given any indication that she still had any romantic feelings for him. He assumed that she still held a torch for Theirin, and had convinced himself that things would never be the same between them again, and that he would forever have to keep his feelings hidden.

That was, until three days ago.

He and Caroline had had a long talk about his father. She'd tried several times to get him to open up about his childhood and his relationship with his father, but not until recently had he been willing to talk. Although she'd finally convinced him that she did not blame him for his father's actions, that didn't make his guilt any the less.

Between them, they'd decided to remove all traces of Rendon Howe from Vigil's Keep. Portraits were taken down, and the former arl's personal effects destroyed. Nathaniel went to his father's old study, which was no longer used and had been locked up, and had spent almost an entire day going through Howe's old correspondence. He came across several diaries and written accounts of his father's various shady deals and plots. Nathaniel could scarcely believe that he was in any way connected with this man; it was obvious from his writings that his father had been insane and paranoid.

He then happened upon some locked chests and, picking the locks with ease, began to sort through their contents. He found several stacks of letters, tied together with string, and his blood ran cold as he immediately recognised the writing upon them. Cutting the string with a dagger, he frantically pored over the writing on the front of the letters.

It was _his_ writing.

_Lady Caroline Cousland  
c/o Castle Cousland  
The Teyrnir of Highever  
N. Ferelden_

"No… no… you couldn't have…" he whispered, setting the pile aside and picking up another with different handwriting on the front. He inhaled shakily as he removed the string, and unfolded one of the letters.

_6 Justinian, 9:25_

_Dearest Nathaniel,_

_I continue to write even though I have not heard from you. During a recent visit to Vigil's Keep I enquired after you, and your father told me you were safe and well, but were travelling around a lot. That is a comforting thought, at least. I will keep writing in the hope that you will receive one of my letters eventually._

_I expect you have heard the dreadful news about our beloved King Maric. I hear that General Loghain is inconsolable, and that your father has been spending a lot of time with him to help him over his grief. A Landsmeet has been called, and it is expected that Cailan will succeed his father, but some of the nobles are wary of his tender age, and yet more are calling for my father to take the throne. I do not yet know what will happen; this is a very uncertain time for Ferelden._

_I am well, as is the family. Mother and Father send their greetings to you, as always. Little Oren turned one this week – he's so adorable! He calls me 'Auntie Caroline' although he doesn't pronounce my name properly! Auntie – that sounds so strange, and makes me feel so old, but I don't mind at all!_

_I do hope you are well, Nathaniel, and that I will hear from you soon. Not a day goes by when I don't think about you. I keep the letter you gave to Samuel on me at all times – I tuck it beneath my bodice so it's always next to my heart. Sometimes, at night, I look up at the moon and wonder if you, too, are looking at it. Perhaps if you get this letter, you could do that at night, and so could I, and in at least some way we would be connected. (I'm dreadfully silly, aren't I?)_

_As always, my dear, I send my love to you, and hope that I will hear from you soon. I love you._

_Carrie._

Nathaniel screwed his eyes shut and placed his hand over them, barely able to assimilate what had happened – his father had somehow intercepted their letters. In the Maker's name, why?

He gasped, suddenly finding himself breathless, and took several rapid breaths as tears streamed down his face. He angrily dashed them away, and started to read through the rest of the letters; there were hundreds of them.

He'd spent hours, sitting on the floor in his father's study, reading and sorting the letters into chronological order. They had all been opened; by his father, no doubt. After he'd finished reading them, he stood and paced the office in a daze. Should he tell her? He and Caroline had become friends again over time, and his discovery may have complicated matters. What would he say if he did tell her? Sorry? How could that possibly make up for it? How could Nathaniel _ever _make up for everything his father had done to her?

He had finally collected himself, locked his father's study and made his way towards her office, having no idea what he would say to her. On his way there, however, he'd noticed several members of staff rushing around and had asked them what was going on.

The king had arrived for his monthly visit – a day earlier than expected, and was in Caroline's office. Deciding he wanted no part of it, Nathaniel had raided the kitchen and taken some food up to his room, where he'd spent the rest of the day.

The king had stayed for three days and, although Nathaniel had seen Caroline during that time, much of her time had been taken up by Theirin and he hadn't had a chance to see her alone, until now, just after the king's departure.

And now, sitting just up the hall from her office in the dark, still he hesitated. What _was_ he going to say to her?

Her door opened again, and she turned and locked it. Was she going to bed? He knew she'd had a long day, and didn't want to add to her troubles, but his feelings were bubbling inside him, and he so wanted to tell her. He held his breath, still uncertain of what to do, as she headed in his direction.

She paused at the entrance to the hall and scanned the room; she obviously couldn't see him, so why had she stopped?

"Who's there?" she called, her voice echoing off the stone walls. "I know someone's there," she said with a sigh. "Is that you, Anders? If you're thinking of jumping out and scaring me, don't bother. I'm not in the mood."

Then he realised: she could sense his taint. There was no hiding from her. "It's only me," he said quietly, leaning forward, hoping not to make her jump.

"Nathaniel?" she asked, squinting to make him out in the gloom. "What are you doing, sitting here in the dark?"

"I think I must have dozed off, or something," he mumbled.

"Aren't you cold?" she asked with a shiver, rubbing her upper arms with her hands.

"I'm bloody frozen," he answered with a mite of amusement in his voice.

"Well, go into the office," she suggested. "Anders got a nice fire going in there earlier – I'm going to make some tea."

"I'll make the tea," he offered. "You go back to the office. I'll be in shortly."

"You're a gentleman," she said with what looked like a forced smile, and she turned and headed back to the office, but not before Nathaniel had noticed the strain on her face.

After filling the kettle and placing it on the hot plate, he glanced down the hall at her door once again and remembered how tired she'd looked, and the weary timbre to her voice. He opened his mouth and rotated his jaw; it ached from being clenched since she'd gone back to the office. _That bastard Theirin! He always leaves her feeling like this!_ He placed the heel of his hand in between his eyes and tried to massage away the beginnings of a headache. _She doesn't… she doesn't still love him, does she? After the way he treated her?_

He hated seeing her this way. She was always the one with a bright smile and an inspiring speech, ready to lift even the weariest and most jaded out of the doldrums. She was the problem solver. She was always there when she was needed and she was always strong for everyone.

But who was there for _her_? Who lifted _her_ spirits? Who was strong for _her_?

Nathaniel knew that he was no Anders. He'd seen the mage, on many occasions, make Caroline cry so hard with laughter that she'd drooled, and had had sore stomach muscles for days afterwards. Nathaniel knew he couldn't do that. Anders was the ozonic, exhilarating, tangy sea breeze that whipped around the ladies and cheekily blew their skirts up over their faces, while Nathaniel was the silence and stillness before a storm broke, the rumble of distant thunder, and the forbidding black clouds that roiled and seethed overhead. So, lifting her spirits, he gladly left to the mage.

But he could be strong for her, he knew that. He could be there for her. He could protect and defend her like no other. He would give his life for her, and he would take the life of anyone who ever tried to hurt her. He owed her everything – she _was_ everything. He loved her. He wanted her. He wanted her to be _his_.

Tonight, he resolved, he would finally tell her.


	5. Catharsis

_**NSFW content in this chapter (hooray)!**_

~o~O~o~

Nathaniel knocked on the office door and opened it whilst skilfully balancing the tea tray on his other hand.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Nate, I should have left the door open," Caroline said shiftlessly, crossing the office to help him.

"Don't worry, I can manage," he replied, and Caroline moved some papers aside so he could place the tray on the desk.

"Cake, as well?" she remarked, rubbing her eyes and settling back in her chair. "You're spoiling me."

Nathaniel began to pour the tea, watching her all the time. She slumped back and closed her eyes, massaging her forehead.

"Headache?" he asked, to which she nodded. "Do you want me to fetch Anders? He's probably still up."

"No, don't bother him," she replied, offering a thankful smile as he passed her tea over. She took a sip and sighed, closed her eyes again, and let her head fall back.

Nathaniel continued to watch her carefully. "Shouldn't you go to bed?" he asked. She opened her eyes and looked at him.

"I wouldn't be able to sleep," she said quietly, looking out of the window. Nathaniel didn't know what she was looking at; it was pitch black outside, and the window pane was obscured by the heavy rain that pelted against it.

"What's the matter?" he asked gently.

"Oh, I don't know," she said with a shrug. "It always seems to be raining, here. It gets me down sometimes."

Nathaniel frowned. "It's said that if it's only raining in Amaranthine, then the weather is fair."

She snorted softly. "Does it ever snow here?" she asked, taking another sip of tea.

"Snow? Well, I remember it snowing a couple of times when I was a boy, but you always seemed to have the snow up at Highever, from what I recall."

An awkward silence fell; one that always fell whenever Highever was mentioned. Both of them avoided bringing it up in conversation out of consideration for the other.

"I'm sorry," he said, angry with himself.

"No… no, it's fine," she replied, smiling thinly. "I do miss the snow from home," she sighed, catching Nathaniel's eye; he immediately looked away and took a piece of cake. "We used to have seven or eight feet of it some winters, and on a clear day one could see all the way to the Frostbacks, which were always tipped with snow. Sometimes I used to go outside when it snowed and just let the flakes fall onto my face," she said with a sheepish smile. "Do you remember that time when we went up on the battlements at Highever and we could see the mountains?"

"Yes, I remember that," he replied with a tentative smile. "I remember a lot of things from that time."

Silence fell again and Caroline stared at her desk, lost in thought. He watched her again and felt irritation creeping into him. She was always maudlin after Theirin had paid her a visit.

"Caroline," he began.

"You always used to call me Carrie," she interrupted.

"But nobody calls you that now."

"Nobody did then, either," she answered. "Nobody but you."

Something indefinable flickered in his pale grey eyes, but he otherwise ignored her comment. "Why don't you tell me what's really bothering you?" he asked.

She sighed in defeat and, as his question sank in, she felt confused. "What do you mean?" she asked with a frown.

He huffed, his deeply-buried frustration suddenly churning in his stomach. "You're always like this when the king has come to visit."

"Oh, I just get worn out with all the preparation, that's all," she replied.

"Come on – it's more than that and you know it," he accused with an edge to his voice he hadn't intended.

She placed her cup down on its saucer and looked at him warily. "What are you getting at?" she asked.

He rolled his eyes and barely suppressed a snort. "Don't you think it's time you stopped moping over him? Because he really doesn't deserve it, you know."

"_Moping_?" she exclaimed, feeling a flicker of irritation at his presumption. "What makes you think I'm moping over him?"

Angered by her denial, he put his teacup down and shook his head derisively. "Come on, Caroline – you go into a panic when he's due to arrive, then you stick to him like glue, giggling like a love-struck teenager at his pathetic jokes, and then, when he's gone, you shut yourself in your office and mope!"

"_What_?" she cried in shock. "What the–"

"And considering the way he treated you," Nathaniel continued, his jealousy and anger overriding his common sense, "for you to act like that is undignified, and quite beneath you!"

Her teacup clattered against the saucer, spilling most of its contents, and she pushed her chair back and rose, looking down on Nathaniel. "And just what does any of that have to do with _you_? _If _I want to mope, and _if _I want to be pathetic and undignified, then that is absolutely none of your business! Who do you think you are, coming in here…?"

Nathaniel shot to his feet. "It's not right for you to hanker after a man who treated you so poorly!"

"Oh, and I suppose _you _treated me so differently?" she asked acerbically, her green eyes cold with fury.

The two of them stood gaping at each other across the desk, both horrified at what they had said, their chests rising and falling rapidly.

"I think we'd better call it a night, before we both say something we'll regret," she said briskly as she moved around the desk and walked toward the office door, intending to show Nathaniel out.

"I don't regret anything I've ever said to you," he said suddenly, his hand snaking out to catch her arm.

"What?" she cried, aghast at his boldness. "You regret _nothing_ you've ever said to me? Did I hear you correctly?" she snapped, tugging her arm from his grip, but he did not release his hold on her. "You don't regret all the little nasty comments? You don't regret trying to humiliate me? You don't regret _lying_ about your intentions toward me?"

"Carrie," Nathaniel began, his deceptively soft tone barely masking his fury.

"Oh, now I'm Carrie, am I?" she said with a strained laugh as her eyes blazed. "How dare you, Nathaniel? How dare you come in here and try to tell me how to behave – how to feel!" she hissed. "You felt me up a few times, promised me marriage, and then I never heard from you again!" she reminded him. "At least the king had the courage to break his promise to my face!"

His eyes narrowed, flashing dangerously behind half-closed lids, and then, without warning, he was upon her, roughly shoving her up against the desk.

"I never lied about my intentions!" he seethed as she struggled to push against his pressing weight.

"Rubbish!" she challenged, raising her chin in defiance. So close were they, she could feel his hot breath against her face. "If fate hadn't put us both here, I never would have seen you again! You're no different than _him_," she said, referring to Theirin. "So don't try to tell me how I should behave or what I should want!"

Nathaniel grabbed her hands and pushed them behind her back with just enough force not to hurt her, but enough to prevent her from breaking free.

Her eyes widened in panic and anger as she tried to wriggle free. "Let go of me! Who do you think you are?" she panted.

He bent closer to her, so close that their lips nearly touched, and she could almost taste the wine and beef from his evening meal; his eyes, glinting like diamonds, drilled into her with a fierce, almost feral, look. She stopped struggling, paralysed by his intense stare.

"I'll tell you who I am, _Carrie_," he rasped, pressing himself fully against her. "I'm the man you _swore_ to love, the man you _promised_ yourself to," he growled. "Do _not_ compare me to Theirin _again_," he warned her.

"Nate, I..." she stammered, hesitating as she noticed his eyes and face soften. Seeming to realise the way he was holding her at last, he immediately released her from his grip.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean... I would never hurt you, Carrie," he said thickly. "Damn it," he muttered as he stepped back from her. "This isn't why I came in here, I wanted... I wanted to..." he began but did not finish, and looked away from her.

She pushed herself off the desk and reached out for his hand, catching it in her own. "Nate," she said quietly.

He gazed down at her small hand in his and, glancing up, finally meeting her eyes, she saw only uncertainty, and not anger, in his.

He cleared his throat nervously and gently released her hand. "I found something a few days ago, just before the king's visit. I wanted to show you then, but… it wasn't the right time. Will you trust me? Will you let me show you?" he asked humbly.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Just… come with me. Please," he requested as he opened the door and gestured for her to precede him.

She nodded slowly and stepped out of the office. "Where are we going?" she asked.

"To my quarters," he answered as they passed up the corridor, into the main hall.

They made their way to his room in silence, both entertaining their own thoughts. As they arrived outside his door, Nathaniel raised his hand for Caroline to stop.

"Wait here for a moment," he said. "I'll get some light going in there."

He opened the door, and Caroline watched as he took a solitary lit candle that had been placed on his night stand by one of the maids, and used it to light the torches set on the walls. He lit a few more candles, and then beckoned her in.

She'd never been inside his quarters before, and glanced around as she entered and closed the door. A large, immaculately-made four-poster bed dominated the centre of the room; to her right was the fireplace, which Nathaniel crouched next to as he got a fire going. To her left, a small table and two chairs sat next to the window, with an armoire set against the wall. A large trunk was situated at the foot of his bed, atop which lay his bow and quiver, his leather armour and his boots. Several exquisitely-crafted swords and daggers were mounted on the walls. There were, however, no portraits.

"That should do it," Nathaniel said quietly as flames began to lick up the sides of the chimney breast. He rose to his feet and gestured for her to take a seat at the table. "You might want to sit down for this," he advised.

"Nathaniel, what is this about?" she asked as she took a seat at the table. Without answering, he took a key out of his pocket, walked over to the armoire and unlocked it, retrieving a stack of papers. He sighed, turned around and walked back to her, and wordlessly placed the bundle on the table in front of her.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Read them," he instructed softly.

She removed a letter from the top of the pile and squinted to read it by the flickering light of the torch on the wall behind her. "This is… _your_ writing… isn't it?" she asked, holding the letter up to allow more light to fall on it.

Nathaniel watched her closely and waited for her reaction; he didn't have to wait long. Her mouth fell open, and her arm, which held the letter, slowly lowered to the table. She took another letter off the pile, and another, then began frantically leafing through the rest, her hands trembling as she did so.

She stopped and looked up at Nathaniel as he placed a second pile on the table; this time, each letter was written in _her _hand.

"I-I don't understand," she whispered, glancing back up at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I…"

"My _father_," he said venomously, turning away from her.

"He-he kept our letters?" she asked desperately.

"Intercepted them, _opened _them, and kept them, yes," he replied, his voice trembling as he stood with his back to her, his arms folded.

"But why would he _do_ that?" she exclaimed, slowly rising to her feet.

He turned around, his arms still folded, and his expression black. "He wanted you to marry Thomas – it's all so clear, now," he said, shaking his head. "Don't you see? He wanted Highever from the start!"

"But that doesn't make any sense! If he'd wanted a marriage between our houses, why do this? We _wanted_ to marry each other!" she exclaimed.

"He knew I wouldn't move against your parents," he reasoned.

"So... so kill everyone at Highever, leaving only Thomas and I?" she whispered, her hand covering her mouth, holding back a moan of anguish.

"Perhaps only Thomas," he said darkly.

"I… I can't believe this," she uttered unsteadily, leaning against the table, feeling a sudden weakness in her legs.

"As my father controlled Thomas, it makes sense," he answered slowly, his hands fisted at his sides. "The signs were all there, but I was too _stupid_ to see them! I could have stopped all of this!"

"No! Nathaniel – it wasn't your fault," she reassured him. "None of this is your doing."

His eyes glinted dangerously as shadows danced across his face. "Of _course _it was my fault!" he snapped angrily, gesticulating with his arms. "I should have stood up to him! I should have seen him for what he was, instead of wasting my life trying to please him! Maker! I should have _killed_ him when I had the damned chance!"

He turned away from her again, and she saw one of his hands go up to his face. "Nathaniel…" she whispered, placing her hand on his shoulder.

He flinched. "No, don't," he said, taking a step further away from her.

"He fooled everyone, Nathaniel," she said softly. "He had us all convinced of his friendship, of his goodwill. My parents never suspected any of this," she reminded him. "How could _you_ have been expected to? I'm so sorry I ever doubted you," she said sadly.

"Don't be," he replied with a hard edge to his voice. He moved to the fire and squatted down, jabbing the burning logs with the poker. "I came so close once, you know."

"Close to what?" she asked, taking a few steps nearer to him.

"Killing him," he answered, rising up swiftly and moving away from her again. "Not long before he sent me to the Free Marches. Maybe that's why he did it; I think he knew I was close to snapping."

"What happened?" she asked gently, walking around to stand in front of him; he looked at the wall, unable to meet her eyes.

"It doesn't matter," he murmured, hanging his head. "The point is, I had a _chance_ and I didn't take it. If I had, then-then… your family, Carrie… us…"

She grasped his arms and held on firmly to stop him backing away. "That was _not _your fault!" she insisted.

He broke away from her and stepped closer to the wall, leaning against the mantelpiece. "I don't blame you for taking up with Theirin; at least he knew how to keep you safe," he said heavily. "What could I possibly offer you, now? My family name is ruined, and _I'm _ruined, Carrie – I'm not capable of feeling anything other than bitterness, hatred and jealousy. I'm no good to you, now."

"I don't believe that," she said, taking a few hesitant steps towards him, noticing him tense as she neared. "And you've got it wrong about the king, Nathaniel. I'm not moping over him. You've misunderstood."

"Yet something else to add to the list of things I've got wrong," he said wearily.

"Nathaniel, you've got to stop this!" she pleaded, positioning herself in front of him. "I won't let you do this – you can't let that bastard win! Listen to me! He did what he could to separate us, but he _failed_ – we still have each other."

A small, derisive laugh escaped his lips. "Each other?" he whispered. "Yes, we have each other – as a Commander and one of her Grey Wardens."

"No, Nate," she whispered, her eyes searching his as she reached up and cradled his face. "When are you going to get it into your head that I love you?"

His face slackened in her hands, and he began to pant softly, blinking rapidly as the enormity of her words slowly sunk in. "You… you…"

"I still love you," she confessed, her eyes shining in the firelight. "I never stopped."

His breathing deepened and his brows knotted together, almost as though he was in pain. Slowly, he lowered his forehead, resting his own against hers.

"I love you, Nate," she repeated softly, coming to her tiptoes to brush her lips against his. His breath quickened and she felt his arms slowly encircle her.

"Carrie, I can't… I… I think you'd better go," he said raggedly. "I don't think I can-"

She felt her heart pounding inside her chest, thrilled that, despite his words, his arms tightened around her. "I'm not leaving, Nathaniel," she said, fixing him with a determined look. "Not now. Not ever…"

Abruptly, her words were silenced as his lips slammed against hers, his arms crushing her hard against him, his exigent, seething ardour a force that could not be disavowed. Feeling the potency and urgency of his arousal, a thrill of exhilaration coursed through her, only heightened by a mild sense of fear: she knew Nathaniel would not be gentle or hesitant, as Alistair had been, and yet her need for him was as primal and fundamental as anything she had ever felt, eclipsing all other needs.

She felt a blistering, searing heat rise in her core as his lips left hers, and he grasped her buttocks, lifting her up onto his pelvis so she straddled him, his hardness biting into her, demanding entrance. Her guttural cry spurred him on, and he hungrily sucked and nipped at her throat while she entangled her hands in his hair, pulling roughly on it as she sought purchase, and he growled against her flesh as he began to move toward the bed, taking her with him.

She screwed her eyes closed and wailed as they reached the bed; by now he was biting her hard, but the pain she felt only inflamed her further, sending waves of heat cascading into her loins, and she began to make frantic, involuntary movements against him with her hips.

He placed one knee onto the bed and, finally releasing her, threw her upon it, and leaned over her, pinning her arms above her head, his other knee sliding between her thighs, parting them.

For a moment, the two of them stared at one another, panting.

"Carrie… I have to have you," he said hoarsely, a bead of sweat slowly meandering its way down his cheek.

"Then take me," she gasped.

He released her arms and, kneeling between her legs, frantically tugged at his shirt and pulled it over his head, carelessly discarding it behind him. Carrie lay limply on the bed, her arms still in the same position Nathaniel had left them in when he had pinned her down, and watched, transfixed, as his huge, calloused hands moved to the lacings of his breeches.

As he deftly worked the lacings, his eyes never leaving hers, she let her gaze wander over his body. He truly was a magnificent sight to behold; she drank in the intoxicating sight of his broad chest and bulky arms, only hinted at before beneath his armour; his alabaster-white skin thrown into sharp relief against the sprinkling of smooth, glossy black hair that covered it. Nathaniel growled under his breath as he watched her eyes travel downwards to the thicket of dark, wiry hair previously hidden by his breeches as he tugged them down, releasing his thick, twitching cock, its foreskin straining to contain the angry purple shaft within, already glistening with pre-ejaculate.

His hands moved to her skirt and he pushed it up to her waist, exposing her long, toned legs. He paused for a second and ran one hand up the length of her left leg, stopping just short of her small clothes. "Lift up," he ordered curtly as his hands moved to her hips, roughly tugging at the waistband. She complied and raised her hips, allowing him to swiftly pull them down her legs, leaving them dangling from one ankle as he grabbed her knees and pushed them apart, a wild and hungry look in his eyes as they lingered on the dark patch of hair between her legs.

"Come to me," he ordered, sitting back on his heels, and he grabbed her hips, pulling her toward him and raising her bottom up onto his thighs. She slid along the bed towards him with a gasp, astonished at his strength, her breath hitching as he grasped his member and placed it at her entrance.

"You're mine, now," he growled and bent over her, grasping her shoulders.

"Take me!" she implored, squirming against the tip of his shaft, moaning with her need for him to enter her.

"Oh!" she cried, her eyes squeezed shut as he fully sheathed himself inside her; shafts of exquisite, searing heat tearing through her as he stretched her to her limit. His eyes widened with concern and then narrowed in focus as he paused for a second, struggling to maintain control, but Carrie's eager response could be felt around his length, driving all conscious thought from his mind and he cried out loud, colours and lights exploding in his mind.

Urgently, and without finesse, his hands moved to the buttons of her shirt, his delirium causing him to fumble, and he growled in frustration, wanting no barrier between him and his love. Buttons flew into the air as he ripped her shirt open and roughly pushed up her breastband, exposing her luscious breasts, tipped with large, rose-coloured nipples.

"Maker, Carrie…" he mumbled, bending over to take one of her sweet buds into his mouth while remaining inside her; Carrie had not known such a feat was possible, and her body shuddered at the thought of being with such an experienced man. Again, her wet core gripped him hard, and she ground herself against him; he gasped and slammed his hand against the bed as he sucked her hard, pulling on her nipple as it hardened in his mouth. Carrie grabbed his hair and pushed herself against him, taking his free hand and clamping it over her other breast. He kneaded it as his tongue flicked over her other bud, blowing, biting, suckling and feasting on her like he was a starved man eating his first meal in days.

His hips twitched involuntarily and he began to move inside her, Carrie meeting him as she pushed her hips forward in perfect sync with his. He removed his mouth from her breast and propped himself up on his hands, his arms at full stretch as he loomed over her, his entire body weight concentrated on her pelvis, crushing her into the bed.

"Nate!" she cried, each powerful thrust of his hips sending his cock pounding, tearing and mauling at her insides, almost painfully. "Kiss me! Please!"

"No!" he bellowed as rivulets of sweat ran down his face. "I want to see you _come_!"

"Oh! Oh!" She screamed as he hammered into her, and her orgasm, which had been lurking at the periphery for some time, came from nowhere, crashing into her with blistering speed and shattering power. She became detached from reality as her body gave itself over to him, devoid of control or conscious movement, and she shuddered violently, her hands yanking his head back and pulling his hair hard. He bit back a yell, fixedly concentrating on her, committing to memory the sight of her coming for him. _Because _of him_._

He continued at his relentless pace, and Carrie, despite her shattered body's refusal to move, willed her eyes to open, in time to see his gritted teeth and his face contorting as he relinquished all control over himself.

"Agh!" he cried, and his body seized up, his neck cording as he threw his head back, and with every last ounce of his strength put into his final thrust, he poured himself into her as his arms buckled, and he collapsed, groaning, on top of her.

They lay together, unable to move for several moments, as he panted and moaned against her neck. She felt his hips twitch again, and he gasped, then exhaled roughly, his body falling limp once gain. She closed her eyes and stroked his hair and back, allowing his spicy muskiness to fill her, savouring his deliciously masculine scent.

"Maker," he whispered, and propped himself up onto an elbow. "Maker," he repeated, and touched her cheek with a trembling hand. "Are-are you all right?" he asked softly. Still not opening her eyes, she laughed huskily and managed a weary nod.

"I… damn," he muttered, and slowly withdrew himself from her. He sat up and respectfully pulled her blouse closed and pushed her skirt down to cover her legs up. "Carrie, I… did I hurt you?"

She opened her eyes a little and, seeing the anxiety on his face, shook her head, figuring that if she didn't say it, then it wouldn't be a lie. He had left her very sore, but he didn't need to know that.

He moved to the edge of the bed, stood up and laced up his breeches, then sat down on the bed, facing away from her. "Carrie, I-I never meant it to be like that… I've wanted you for so long and I lost control. Can you ever forgive me?" he asked contritely.

"Forgive you?" she asked with a laugh in her voice. "Forgive you for making love to me?"

"That _wasn't_ lovemaking, Carrie, and you know it. You deserved better than that... I-I wanted it to be different with you."

She pushed herself up onto her elbows and grabbed his arm; seeing that she wanted to sit up, he braced his arm and helped her with his other hand. She wriggled to the edge of the bed and sat against him, gently stroking his back as she watched him.

"Nate, we'd both been waiting a long time for this," she reassured him.

"No, not like _that_," he said quietly, referring to his roughness, his shoulders slumped. "I told you – I'm not capable of expressing love, or tenderness. Only anger."

"That's simply not true," she said, taking his hand.

He shook his head and turned to look at her. "I did hurt you – I must have. I-I'm sorry, Carrie."

"Shhh," she crooned softly, laying her head against his shoulder. "Have you never made love before?" she asked.

He shifted slightly, and sighed. "I have bedded women," he answered slowly. "But, as I've only ever _loved_ one woman, I would have to say no, until tonight, I have never made love," he confessed, tentatively stroking her hand with his thumb. "I treated you disrespectfully, Carrie. I should have been more… restrained."

"Why?" she demanded, defying his remorse. "Don't ever apologise for wanting me, Nate. I will not be ashamed of this," she said firmly. "You've never made love, so how..." she paused thoughtfully, biting her lower lip. "You asked me to trust you earlier, didn't you?" she asked, and he nodded slowly, wondering what she was getting at. "Will you trust me now?"

He watched her for a moment, his embarrassment and confusion still apparent in his posture, but he nodded.

"Come on," she whispered, rising from the bed and holding her hand out to him. "I asked for a bath to be drawn in my quarters before you came to the office – it should be ready, now."

"A bath?" he asked, puzzled.

"A bath," she repeated as she buttoned up her shirt. She held out her hand again, and he took it, standing up and facing her.

"Will you let me look after you?" she asked softly, passing him his shirt.

"I…" he began, and faltered as her loving gaze sent an unfamiliar warm hum along his skin. He pulled on his shirt and took her outstretched hand, nodding silently.

She smiled warmly at him, and led him by the hand out of his quarters, and down the hall to hers, where a freshly-drawn bath awaited them both.


End file.
